The Eternal Blue Sky
by TehChron
Summary: Man is helpless. Alone. Desperately struggling for the scraps of power to not be swept up in the currents of En, formed by the passage of those figures who forge history. No matter the world, no matter the life, all the world is a battlefield. In a world where Ghost Liners tread, what can one Vineas Vine do to save the friend he cherishes most in this second chance? Olga-Marie x OC
1. First Chapter

_"I observe that while several modern writers deal with particular wars and certain matters connected with them, no one, as far as I am aware, has even attempted to inquire critically when and whence the general and comprehensive scheme of events originated and how it led up to the end. I therefore thought it quite necessary not to leave unnoticed or allow to pass into oblivion this the finest and most beneficent of the performances of Tyche. For though she is ever producing something new and ever playing a part in the lives of men, she has not in a single instance ever accomplished such a work, ever achieved such a triumph, as in our own times. We can no more hope to perceive this from histories dealing with particular events than to get at once a notion of the form of the whole world, its disposition and order, by visiting, each in turn, the most famous cities, or indeed by looking at separate plans of each: a result by no means likely. He indeed who believes that by studying isolated histories he can acquire a fairly just view of history as a whole, is, as it seems to me, much in the case of one, who, after having looked at the dissevered limbs of an animal once alive and beautiful, fancies he has been as good as an eyewitness of the creature itself in all its action and grace." - Polybius, Histories_

**...**

"You're so _boring!_"

Golden eyes come down, radiating an earnestness and an air of command. Like the imperious gaze of the ruler towards their subjects. They were childish eyes, full of expectation, and they bored into my own, interposing between myself and the heavy tome I held before me. It was frustrating, but then that hardly mattered:

It would be crass of me to hold a four year old to any sense of decorum.

A considering thought filled my mind in that moment. How best to manage the young girl before me? In my time I had dealt with children, sure, but the opulence of my _current_ circumstances threw a certain wrench into the knowledge gained through my _previous _experiences that now left me hesitant. So it was only fitting that I dramatically sighed, punctuating the sound with the soft slapping of heavy vellum pages as I closed the book to catch the silver-haired girl's eye.

Let's see how she manages my undivided attention, then.

I held her gaze for a long moment, fingers toying with the binding, and in so doing summon the full weight of my authority, "_Rude_," I drawl, affecting a sniff as if I had caught wind of some unknown - yet assuredly unpleasant - odor, "What is it?" The question is loosed upon her, let the child deal with being on the off-foot as she rationalizes her thirst for att-

"We're supposed to be _playing_." The child before me states succinctly, as if spelling a concept out for a simpleton, her stubby arms grabbing her hips imperiously. In this she was mistaken, why would I play a child's games when I had long since outgrown them? Some element of my thoughts must have been obvious as the eyes before me narrowed, and I repressed a shudder as ruddy cheeks inflated into that universal human expression: The pout.

"And _why_," I respond simply, pointing the corner of the heavy tome towards her, "Would I be doing something as childish as _that?_" I had better things to do after all. Maritime history was fascinating, and the library I had found myself in had been a treasure trove beyond anything I had ever seen before. Besides, this was my home, and no matter who this girl was she was not the one in authority here.

Her tiny index finger was thrust towards me as if in challenge to that very thought, "What nerve!" My opposite declared, eyes narrowing, "You're as much a kid as I am!" I scoffed, openly at that. What was she talking about? I was no child, thank you very much. That fact would not change no matter how many times she poked me in my chest. Not that that stopped her.

I bore this abuse with stoic dignity, the poise appropriate of my role as the adult in the room.

But my companion would have none of it, even as I ignored her violence like the shameless barbarism that it was. At least, I did until the enemy before me tried a new, altogether more sinister form of attack.

"This has gone on long enough! _I_ am the _guest_ here! That means that _you _need to treat me!" Her expression, which had until this moment been pouting, now took on a suspicious, calculating gleam wholly unsuited to someone her age, "And if you keep ignoring me, I'm going to inform my father of how rude you were!"

My lips curled into a grimace, despite my best efforts.

The girl's lips twisted into a triumphant smirk, exultant.

_Did she seriously just invoke Guest's Right on me?_

**…**

What is the treasure sought after more than any other?

Wealth? Fame? Magic, power, a special destiny? The answer is something more mundane than that, alas, for all our lofty dreams humans are fundamentally creatures that are easily satisfied.

The wish we all have had is simultaneously common, simple, easy, and impossible.

Salvation? Happiness? Love?

The villain and the misanthrope would disagree, and we are all born with the right to the pursuit of happiness. None of these things are impossible, nor are they easy. Thus it can not be something to be sought, as these are all things within our grasp.

No, the most valued treasure is one that is timeless, for it is by time that we measure it's value. That treasure is opportunity- no, let me be more specific:

What we all want is a second chance. There are none who have been born upon God's green earth who has not tasted the bitter taste of regret. A chance to do our mistakes over, and to try and achieve an answer we could not reach back then. We look back on opportunities missed, alternative directions our lives could have taken, and wish for those unknown possibilities.

Look in your heart and ask whatever dwells within, "If I had the chance for another try, would I take it?" I do not doubt that most of us have singular moments of our lives, bitter memories and long haunting regrets, where we wish we had chosen a different fork in the paths we went down. It is the rare individual indeed that would turn down an opportunity to try again, to look back on their life, take in the good and ill, and say that they would not change a thing, but make no mistake! These rare specimens exist.

At one time I counted myself among their number.

There's a cosmic joke about opportunities and power being best suited to those who want it least, and if I ever hear it uttered in my presence I will do my utmost to hang the offending comedian up by their entrails. Suffice it to say, that legendary treasure, the mythic 'Second Chance' is woefully wasted upon myself, I believe. We are all given one chance on this earth, one life to live, and for all the tragedy that exists others are still forced to live lives far more miserable than what I experienced.

It seems like such a waste.

My life was hardly extraordinary, the first time around. I had two parents. Some siblings. From one parent I learned of love; for myself and others. From the other I learned of hatred. A simple enough way for me to live at the time. But children grow up, as is their wont, and so I became my own person, and as the man I was opened to truth, the desire, the conceit, to live life as quintessentially myself took shape within my heart. I struggled, I faltered, I tried, pursued, and lived.

And then I died.

As I said, at one time I considered myself someone who would not regret, but I suppose in the quiet times that came afterwards I endlessly reviewed my circumstances. When you are alone in the world, you can only rely on yourself. And if nothing else you should be honest with your closest allies. I wished to still live, you see. I had so very much to do. Busy, busy.

By some miracle, curse, or other quirk of fortune I was given that second chance that so many sought, and I had not desired until the very moment in which I needed it. I believe that there is a kind and loving God, you see, and while I will not pretend to understand His thoughts in this matter, I must say that I find it in poor taste that His Plan sought to put me in my current circumstances. Well, that's more frustration than anything on my part, a bit of pride carried over and nurtured in these renewed circumstances.

Let's be frank here: Isekai is a trash genre. It's very existence is predicated on the puerile power fantasy, escapism in its laziest of forms. 'Here I am!' the typical self insert cries, 'This is where I would be in a world more suited to me!'. Such nonsense. Even with my current standing I can't help but turn a sneer towards those individuals who wish so fervently for a world so different from their own that they'd throw away the lives that they had been blessed with. It is an insult to those who are fortunate, for the parents that raised them! It is a besmirchment of those less gifted, who dream not of fantasies but of a way to make the most of what they have.

Oh but I am a hypocrite, for here I am, deriding as worthless a gift that I'm sure many would happily give away everything they have and more for.

Indeed, I finally have what I had so fervently wished for, gift wrapped to me, even as the creation of that very world was my most ardent ambition in life. Ah, but then again, there is little value in a miracle that is handed to you on a silver platter. At least, I would think so.

I suppose an introduction is an order.

Hello. A pleasure to meet you. My name is Vineas Vine, formerly-Well, it doesn't really matter does it? That time is long past now, years so, and even as a stranger in this world I still find myself having difficulty acclimating the I-That-Was to the I-That-Am. There's a poor joke to be made at the expense of people wishing to be reincarnated as busty young girls, but I think I ought to refrain. Let it never be said that I will not insult someone to their face, and were I to find any such…_fortunate_...deviants then I imagine that the opportunity to indulge in that simple pleasure will be all the more satisfying for my restraint up until that point. You are quite welcome, perverts.

Oops.

...When I awoke to my new circumstances, it was to a great deal of frustration. I had been in the middle of something important, you see, and I like to think that it was due to the limitations of a newborn body that I began screaming and cursing as best I could with the equipment I had. It might have been terribly embarrassing if I did not have that convenient excuse, but fortunately the only shame I have for that period is, again, a disappointment of a more private sort. It was not until I had been carried away by a nursemaid, and put into a crib that I would experience the true sense of loss that my circumstances represented. The soft, sensitive body of the babe that I was had been tucked in, after glances and poking from people that I assumed were this body's _parents_, and as I fell to sleep, the lining of the crib glowed. The air thrummed with subtle power, and the full irony of my situation became apparent.

For I, as someone who had spent their life chasing the idea of the truth to magic, was robbed of everything. And in exchange, rather than being blessed with the right to shape the world in which I had lived, I was thrust into a world in which my grandest dream had long been realized by others far before my second birth.

What is a victory unearned? For your dream to be granted, and all your efforts invalidated?

It is as ash in one's mouth. Forever. A peerless bitterness, that pervades the soul and rots the mind, a sense of helplessness.

All your works, in vain.

It is difficult to put such a malaise in words, I suppose. I will not try. But I spent years in silence as a result, stewing about in depression, and it was fortunate in many ways that as this body was that of a toddler, there was little expectation for a child to be verbose. I welcomed the excuse, as this new body went through the motions. I slept, ate, eventually walked, and did the games that were expected of the newborn. I learned, for I was in a world of magic.

Even in the fog of my own helplessness, the curiosity that had driven me in life would not, _could_ not sit idle. I was myself, in the end, and thank God for that.

It bears emphasis, but even if my tone seems fitting, I assure you that I am not even remotely British. As a matter of fact, I am an American. Born and raised, as it were. This needs to be said, because my current circumstances are not without a sense of irony. For as stereotypical as this sounds, I was reborn in a magical United Kingdom. Yes yes, I know it's a cliche. Further, it turns out that the Vine family is a longstanding clan of the aristocracy that was of a respectable age when Hadrian's Wall was constructed. They were quite fortunate in fact, as it allowed their ancestors to shack up under the aegis of Arbeia at the mouth of the Tyne. Frankly, I would think it magical that they had survived that long given how messed up that area got after the Picts overran the Wall, but I suppose those secrets are ones I will plumb at a later date.

My…_father_, the twenty-first Head of the Vine, is a man by the name of Volesus-Gherieli Vine. He's a strong-minded individual, very obsessed with his work, and I suppose I can admire his ethic in that regard. But perhaps that is my own rose tinted view of the man who raised me, who did so at great expense and sacrifice. He certainly seems compassionate enough, but then I suppose I neither expect nor desire emotional closeness with him. I have but one parent, and the less said of my mother the better.

For all the trappings of nobility that our home has, we do not seem especially affluent. But that is for the best, as material wealth is not something I desire overmuch. As conceited as I find adherents to Rand, I will at least agree that unearned wealth is a poison if indulged in. Better to succeed in spite of advantages, rather than due to them. It was largely incidental, however, for there was one thing which I was grateful towards that money for if nothing else:

The Vine ancestral home had a library which had a selection of books which put to shame that of any place else I had ever seen in my life. To my own shame I had never visited the Library of Congress, or any of the more famous public repositories of the written word, but there is something lost in the modern age of paperbacks and e-readers that was within easy grasp there. The smell of old paper, of heavy vellum, the weight and history and passion that went into crafting each individual work. Oh I have been there, I assure you, balking at the thirty dollar price tag of a tabletop game rulebook! Let not these words convince you otherwise, for what use is the luxury of leatherback when you can buy _three_ Gunpla for the same cost?

Ah, my brothers, but I have fallen. Corrupted by the allure of the bourgeoisie! Do not send help, for it is already far too late. I fear that when I drink tea I now extend my pinkie subconsciously. A shameful display indeed. Remember me as I was, cheap, penny pinching, with my fingers covered in the remnants of pinches from trying to fit too-small components into place with too-large digits. Not as I am. Cursed with affluence.

Worth it.

It was only a matter of time before the adults around me took note of my behavior, attaching the hated title of 'gifted' to me. Sure, I had not been subtle about my reading material, but the fact that I refused to read below my level for the sake of appearances should not have aroused such wonder in my surroundings. I'm sure that there were several instances of precocious children getting into places they should not have, and messing around with books older than most modern nation-states. Honestly, if anything I ought to be punished! Where was the infamous strict discipline of the aristocracy I had heard so much about?

It was at that this time that, for whatever reason, Lord Vine seemed to take a more firm hand in my 'raising', and began teaching me in earnest. I was a child in appearance only, and while I had not been schooled in some time, the basics were something I had had drilled into my body by virtue of base repetition if nothing else. He still did not see fit to teach me any of his magic, however, despite my being the only child I saw in the house. But perhaps the Vine were only a branch family to the true wizards? Who knows? I suppose it was a question that would resolve itself in time, but for now I would focus on learning more of the world I found myself in.

The Lord had seen fit to stick me with these circumstances, and so I would see them through at the very least. It was actually rather funny, you see. For my ambition was borne from the romantic idea that there was a fundamental 'Truth' from which sprang the concept of magic as we understand it. A fundamental meme that echoed across all of human civilization, that resonated within us not because we sought to get away from the harshness of the reality in which we lived, but because on an instinctive, genetic level we understood that there is something beyond the world we see, a further peak just out of sight, should we only know to peel back the curtain of the everyday and [I]look[/I]. That curiosity drove me still, and so in the pursuit of knowing the true shape of the world, and the true form of it's history, I took to Lord Vine's lessons with aplomb.

Besides, if Isekai convention continued playing straight, there was a non-zero chance that I had somehow been sent to a world in a less-than-fictional franchise I was familiar with. Figuring out that mystery was enthralling in its own right, and proved enough to shake me out of my ennui completely.

Yet the more I learned, the more frustrated the man who taught me seemed to become.

One day deep blue eyes caught my own, their intensity blazing even through glasses I felt sure were enchanted, "Vineas." The Lord of the Vine Family declared, and I could feel that this conversation would be an unwelcome departure from the comfortable routine, "When was the last time you met with a child your own age?"

I stared in blank confusion for the moment, racking my mind in pursuit of such a memory, "I...do not recall," I failed, "Sir." The older man's face pinched, leathery, ink-stained hands creased his forehead before pushing back sandy blond hair with a sigh.

"Have you ever met or played with any other children, young man?"

My eyes blinked owlishly, "Why would I do that?" What would I have to do with children, anyway? I had everything I needed here. Books to read. Food. Toiletries. Good music. The loss of the internet was a problem, but I doubted that broadband even _existed_ yet-

"You are four years old now, son," Wait, what? "Don't you think it's time you met with your peers?"

"_Peers_, sir?" My mind raced. Peers? As in, equals? I was surrounded by adults, so surely I was already set?

"Those your own age," He snorted, idly stroking a short, cropped beard.

I barked out a laugh, "Why would I care to spend time playing with a bunch of children in the city?" Tyne and Wear was a nice place with a rich history dating back almost as far as the Vine clan itself, but I would have been horribly out of place trying to mingle with a bunch of urban youth. Urban _British_ youth. I would be doubly out of my depth!

The man turned ponderous then, staring off into the distance. It was to be expected, really. I had been correct, and if Lord Vine had any intention of salvaging this absolute _mess_ of a conversation, he would have to tread carefully, "You _would_ be out of place among the common folk," I felt a sharp pang in my chest at the comment, "So no, it's only natural that you would hold no interest in them, son." Of course, I was far beyond their age after all. What kind of adult plays with children? The very thought of such an individual sent a chill down my spine. Brr. _Creepy_.

As my teacher seemed to mull the matter over, I saw the opportunity to nip this uncomfortable subject in the bud, "Then let us get back to the less-"

A hand, so much larger than my own, held itself up, "Peace, child." The Head of the Vine Family continued staring off into the distance, "Just because you have no peers nearby, does not mean I can allow you to be neglected of social ties." That same hand fell upon my head, mussing with my own carefully maintained locks, "Leave it to your father."

My father was in another world, long mourning the passing of his son. I could no longer leave him with anything, even if I had wanted to.

Lord Vine, however, turned around and departed from the study I had grown so familiar with, his expression thoughtful. Missing out on the days lessons had been an unwelcome surprise, but I would hardly complain about getting more time to read freely.

**…**

I've mentioned before that the Vine family is quite old, dating back to at least the initial founding of Londinium, to hear my teacher tell the story. Apparently the clan's head had been entranced by the promise of setting up harbor and with it, roots, in Britannia shortly after the Roman conquest of much of the island in the middle of the first century under Claudius, and had been one of several families eager to expand into the new domain. Londinium had been a private affair, initially intended as a kind of personal fiefdom run by a confederacy of the noble families which had founded it, and this had proven effective for the first few decades until the day when everything changed.

When the Iceni Nation - under Boudica - attacked.

Of course, the nobles who had helped found the settlement had followed hot on the heels of the Catus Decianus in fleeing the island after he passed through Londinium with the treasure he had seized from the Iceni tribes. My teacher had had a look of utmost satisfaction as he rambled on about rats valuing nothing more than their own skin, so I suspected that there was some larger story there that I was not yet privy to. Regardless, after Classicanius took on the role of Procurator, the Vine and their compatriots returned from Gaul and used the treasure that they had 'rightfully earned' to rebuild Londinium in the wake of Boudica's razing of the settlement. This, too, was paid for mostly out of pocket, and from what Lord Vine would claim it was due to the penny-pinching habits of 'short-sighted blue bloods' that the city would wind up burning down once again, in the Hadrianic Fire.

By the time that the Emperor Hadrian had made clear his intention to tour the territory at the start of the second century, the Vine had decided to move away before risking a third conflagration within one lifetime, and invested themselves and their fortune further North in Roman Britannica.

Naturally, as the Vine had been the ones to provide the nautical muscle for the nobility that had set up Londinium in the first place, their 'defection' was not taken well. Which, among other things, lead to a rift between them and the other twenty two families that had founded the settlement. Thus the Vine settled into something of a comfortable spot, serving as the local mystical muscle to a major port that handled trade through the Scandinavian shipping routes throughout the next thousand years, interestingly enough outlasting the Antonine Plague, the Pictish invasion, Albinus' ill-thought out rebellion, apparently wrung Caurasius for all that he was worth and the inevitable third time charm of the Frankish sacking, and the Great Conspiracy.

While there were inevitably feathers ruffled by the decision, Lord Vine seemed to believe that the remaining families likely were just jealous of his own clans ability to escape so many successive disasters relatively unscathed. Speaking frankly, I couldn't help but agree with him on that matter.

And, of course, the Vine were there for when the Romans withdrew from the island with Constantine and left the territories to fend for themselves. I had asked for details about King Arthur then, but Lord Vine had proved cagey on the details. Well, he had been vague about the magical elements of the family, and King Arthur fell pretty firmly under that. Granted, given the history of the family up until that point I doubt the Vine had any friends in Camelot.

Strangely enough, after that point we more or less skipped over several centuries worth of history up until the family reached back out to Londinium after Alfred the Great had retaken the city, which despite being abandoned by that time in my original life, apparently still retained those same noble families that had helped found the place. Credit goes to their stubbornness, I suppose.

Either way, this nearly one thousand years of absence from the center of their power had incensed the Vine to their former compatriots, and it was a stigma that afflicted the clan even now near the end of the second millenium. Well, it was 1995, so the fact that those families could hold a grudge for over a thousand years like that was kind of impressive. Given that, from what I could tell, the Vine were only guilty of liberal applications of both common sense and survival instinct. Then again, I wasn't a noble, so what did I know?

Aristocrats were oddballs like that.

Well, long story short, the various circles (or covens as the case may be) that the Vine family moved in did not think particularly highly of them, which made building up associations and alliances with other nobility difficult. So, to a degree, I could understand why Lord Vine had been interested in getting me to network with fellow children. Granted, I personally believed that such efforts would backfire given the age difference, but the man did take care of me and provided a roof over my head. Doing my best in this task was the least I could do to repay him.

**…**

It would be several days after that initial conversation that Lord Vine would return with the results of his efforts.

"It took some doing," The blond man said, expression severe, "But I was able to arrange a playdate with the daughter of one of the more prestigious families."

"Sir?"

The man tilted his damnable spectacles, the lens glaring in the daylight leaking in through the rooms study, "She will be arriving tomorrow afternoon, the staff have been notified to have refreshments prepared."

"Sir?"

"You're fortunate, Vineas," Volesus-Gherieli Vine continued, smiling to himself, "From all appearances, she too, is a young child with great promise." Fingers tugged on sandy facial hair.

"Sir, _why?_"

"Because, son," My teacher and patron said, his eyes turning strangely misty, "Everyone needs friends." His hand fell upon me, mussing my hair as if I were some child. I shook the offending limb off, glaring at the man as I made my escape.

"How am I supposed to be friends with a _child?_"

The head of the Vine family chuckled, a throaty sound, "I'm sure that girl will be thinking the same thing when she arrives."

My heart stilled.

_He knows?!_

**…**

The first indignity I suffered that day was being forcibly dressed. I must make this clear. There is a dignity that you take for granted when it comes to dressing oneself. A certain element of pride in determining the appearance you wish to present. It is a mark of self determination that you can be as clean or as slovenly as you choose, regardless of the consequences. Though I was currently stuck with the body of a child, I had always taken the initiative to dress myself the moment my stunted, chubby limbs were capable of manipulating my clothes drawers.

I still remember the abject humiliation of being showered by overgrown, gangly folk. They cooed and made all manner of disgraceful noises, as they intruded upon me while I was bereft of clothing to hide my shame. It had been one of the catalysts for me to display my motor skills as early as possible, for the sooner I could show that I could take care of myself, the sooner I could escape being made out to be a joke by the house's employees.

Many vendettas were born that day. Vows of vengeance, etc. Some I would even get the chance to act upon. As I was scrubbed and cleaned and fitted like the young aristocrat this body was supposed to be, I lay a silent curse upon the family of those who had lead to this situation. May all their endeavors end in failure. After what felt like a small eternity of this humiliation the three of us, Lord Vine, his wife, and myself, all had our lunch. It was a simple affair, and memorable only by virtue of the rarity by which the three of us ever truly met with one another at the same time. On some level, I suppose I should be more regretful of the lack of interaction as we quietly ate at the same table, but one of them was my teacher, and the other a stranger under the same roof. Time passed, before I knew it we three adjoined to the vestibule of the family home and waited for the arrival of our 'Guests'.

Well, _Lord Vine's _guests, anyway.

It felt like we waited for hours before the wooden doors to our home creaked open, and as the light of noontime spilled in, the first thing that caught my eyes was a shock of silver hair, wavy and wild as it cascaded down her shoulders, errant tufts sticking out every which way, with a golden clip affixed to one side of her head, the opposite end obscured by her bangs.

Like that, I could safely eliminate western media as the source of the setting I now found myself in. For before me was a young girl who could not be described as anything less than 'anime as all hell'. Amber eyes met my own, and I was struck by an uncanny sense of familiarity. I knew the story that this girl was from, I was sure, but I tended to avoid shows with children in them unless they were bratty little sisters, which cut the possible options down to the slice of life genre.

I continued analyzing her; the white hair and golden eyes were a hallmark of western transfer student tropes, along with blonde hair and blue eyes. Considering that we weren't in America, she was likely of some eastern european descent. The fact that she wasn't some kind of overly curvaceous titty monster struck out the possibility of her being a love interest for the traditional harem in such stories, which means I was either looking at a little sister character, or outright pedobait.

I grabbed my chin in thought, attempting to place the creature. A slice of life franchise with magical elements and a transfer student from Britain or Scandinivia? Russia, perhaps? What an awfully specific setting this is! I mean, it's been a few years since I had really _seen_ a cartoon, let alone an anime, and given all the other things I had filled my time with since arriving, I must be more out of touch than I thought if I could not-

"Pardon my son," Lord Vine's voice cut through my thoughts like a knife, "He's probably just awestruck by your daughter." I blinked, as my teacher's hand clapped my shoulder, and for the first time I looked to see the girl in front of me, nose upturned imperiously as she held her hand out towards me.

I'm pretty sure that there were some mistake in etiquette at play here, but I could at least go with the flow, "Vineas Vine," I said, the words unfamiliar to my lips, "At your service." My hand grasped hers, and it was with an element of surprise that I almost winced at the strength that clamped down upon my limb.

"Olga Marie," Golden eyes curled at my discomfort, "A pleasure." The Marie family? That just made things more difficult to place! I expected some kind of nonsensical portmanteau of Janglish! Not someone with two first names! That being said, Olga was Slavic, wasn't it? And the silver hair _was_ something that you'd see out of German-ish characters in anime, "Well?"

I blinked, "I beg your pardon," the words sprung forth unbidden, "I just feel like I've seen you somewhere before."

The girl reacted with a pretty impressive _humming_ sound, sticking her chest out in pride as she posed with her hands upon her hips, "I'm not surprised that you've heard of me! _I_ am a natural genius, poised to lead my generation!"

An eyebrow was raised at the declaration, and I turned to face Lord Vine for explanation. It was the girls father, however, that answered, "Now, now Olga." The man threw his daughter's hair into even further disarray, "Young Vineas is talented as well, so I'm sure that you two will have much to talk about." He tilted his head towards his host then, both of the men's smiles indulgent.

"Vineas," Lord Vine added, "Why not show your guest around the house? We adults will be having a word among ourselves." I am not too proud to admit that I sighed at that moment, but what could I do?

There was only one place I wanted to be, and my sanctuary would doubtless allow me to ignore the annoying child in front of me, "This way," I gestured theatrically, turning around and making my way to the study. The thoughtful hums and random chattering were clue enough that the noble girl followed in my wake.

**…**

It was inevitable, I suppose, that the silver haired menace would know enough to force me to cater to her whims. Spoiled, entitled brat that she is.

"And why," I reply, after she had made her demands, "Does you being my guest mean I have to _do_ anything?"

"Hospitium."

My tongue clicked in irritation. "_Why_ do you know about that?"

"I _am _a genius." She explained, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Fine, if this was how she wants to play, "If you are such a genius, then I'm sure you know _everything_, right?" It was crass of me to pull such a stunt, but if I wasn't going to be allowed to read in peace, then I would get my enjoyment where I could.

Olga's head bobbed up and down, "Of course!" Heh, such a child.

"Then what can you tell me about _this?_" I hold out the book I had been reading, a finger tapping at the leather cover in my grip.

Golden eyes peer down, squinting, "..._Nautical Achievements in Prehistory_?" The girl glances up to meet my gaze, seemingly confused.

I don't let my satisfaction show, "Of course!" Diminutive shoulders rise and fall easily, "You know that long before the Greeks and Romans, the world was already interconnected, right?"

The loud snort that followed was proof enough of her knowledge, "That's _ridiculous!_ The earliest mundane peoples to have accomplished a trans-atlantic crossing were the _Vikings!_ And Erik the Red didn't manage to make his way to Greenland until long after King Arthur had died in the Ninth Century! There's no way that they could have accomplished it without magecraft, especially before the Roman Empire!"

"_Hmmhmm_," I hum thoughtfully, "So what do you know about the Bronze Age collapse?" I ask and place the book down, before turning towards a nearby bookshelf. There were some relatively new volumes that had been ordered which would prove informative, and doubtlessly more entertaining than this game.

"That's easy," The girl stares, eyes narrow in a glare, "There was a period of unrest brought about by the Sea Peoples, who were probably _really_ Atlantis given Plato's claims a few centuries later, as they waged war on the Mediterranean Kingdoms and wiped them out." Stubby arms crossed over her chest, "Hmph! Everyone knows that they waited on the Trojan War, and diminishment of the Hittite Empire, before making their move as the region destabilized itself!"

I raise an eyebrow at the fantastical assumption, "Well, that is certainly a very _particular_ assumption," My four year old fingers drummed the leatherbound spines thoughtfully, eventually hooking on one credited to a Robert Drews, "There is little evidence that all of that alone could have resulted in such a systematic destruction of all those civilizations, so thoroughly and completely."

The girl before me waves her hand dismissively, "Naturally! That is because the Atlanteans were still in possession of powerful mysteries that none of the other Kingdoms could match!"

I crack open the book, finger pausing over the legend, "There are numerous people who claim that it was the result of natural disasters striking the major palace-cities of those kingdoms. Mycenae, Hattusas, Knossos, Troy."

"That's easy!" Olga Marie declared, "The Atlanteans were known to have Poseidon as a patron deity, and as he is the lord of Earthquakes, then naturally they would be able to use them against their enemies!"

Humming thoughtfully, I continue, "Surely there weren't any migratory issues? There was ample evidence left by Ramesses III, of the Sea Peoples intending to colonize the land they conquered. Perhaps those civilizations fell to a refugee crisis?"

"Well, Atlantis sank didn't it?" Amber eyes blink owlishly, "Where else were they supposed to go?"

"Perhaps they would have sunk to the bottom of the sea and bargained with a dark god for the right to become amphibious snake-men?" I chuckle, fondly remembering the times when Blizzard still had competent writers. To my surprise, that seems to get Olga Marie actually thinking seriously on the subject, which made me incredibly apprehensive of the magical history of this world.

"You kno-" I cough.

"-Or perhaps, there's another theory: That advances in metallurgy allowed enterprising individuals to overwhelm established nations through superior weaponry? Ironworking on a scale comparable to bronze smelting, at the time, would have been an immense martial advantage that no one would have been equipped to handle."

"That's awfully mundane." The girl said to me, missing the point entirely, "So what, they would have been a bunch of nomads with better metalworking skills and no head for administration?"

"Scholars make for terrible bureaucrats," I pointed out, "And we still haven't recreated Cyclopean architecture."

"_Magic_."

I cough awkwardly, closing the book and placing it back on the shelf, "_Anyway_, there's still the most important question of all: What if it [I]wasn't[/I] Atlantis?"

I receive a glare for my cheek, "But it explains _everything!_ What else could it be?"

One finger came up, "The Dorians came down around the same time, helping to found the post-Mycenae Greek states," Another finger came up, "There's a possibility that it could have been the Picts or another Britannian tribe, since there are theories that the tin trade during the Bronze Age extended that far north, and we have evidence that there were boats capable of making the trip from Albion to the Mediterranean."

"What do you mean?" A smirk, as I walk back towards the book I had been reading earlier, opening it up to the proper page and pointing out the relevant passage. The girl looks it over, confused, "Ferriby and Dover?" She glances back towards me.

A third finger went up, "If the Atlanteans weren't the only people capable of such a journey, then there is no reason to assume it was them." I smirk at Olga Marie in full, turning towards a new page, "After all, the Atlanteans had nothing to do with the Polynesians, did they?"

The girl snorts in disbelief, her eyes scanning the pages with enviable speed, "The Atlanteans could have been the ones to do it _before_ going back to the Mediterranean, I'm sure they would have needed to, in order to maintain their Foundation at some point…"

"Oh really?" My lips curl in anticipation, "Even if the known evidence dates the Polynesians expansion _and_ navigation of the Polynesian Triangle as being the very time period that the Bronze Age Collapse occurred in?" My conversation partner pauses, and looks back at the page, "The Atlanteans may have had Poseidon's backing, but I doubt even _that_ city could have been in two places at once."

Amber eyes narrowed, "That's easy enough, the Atlanteans would have wandered the seas for a few centuries, circumnavigated the globe, imparted their techniques. Then, as their Foundations and connections to the Greek Pantheon wavered, they returned to the cradle of civilization in force." The girl nods in self satisfaction, "Simple."

"I suppose that explains how people managed to get to Australia, then?" I asked innocently.

"Of course." She looks back up at me, finally looking wary, "What else could it have been?"

I shrug, "Perhaps the Aboriginals pre-dated Atlantis entirely?" Olga Marie's eyebrow lifts, which I took to be her asking me to elaborate, "I'm guessing you've never heard of the Lake Mungo remains?"

"No," She sniffs imperiously, "Why would I be studying the history of Australian tribals?"

"Oh, no reason." I say conversationally, "Just that I was wondering why you thought that Atlantis was over thirty thousand years old," I paused enjoying the slight widening of the girl's eyes, "Older by far than even ancient Babylon." I fold my arms behind my back, leaning forward to stare the little girl in her eyes, voice dripping with sarcastic triumph, "How do you suppose Atlantis could be responsible for _every_ nautical triumph in prehistory, if we have evidence that such things predate _civilization itself?_"

Olga Marie flinches away, "You have no proof that it _wasn't_ Atlantis." The statement was wary, defensive, and felt oddly pleasant to hear.

I lean back, "Maybe," I reply with a self satisfied drawl, "But you have no proof that it _was_." My eyebrow raises, "Which is my point." I snap the book shut, "Unless we could go back and look at the past ourselves, we have no way of knowing which of us is correct, and so we can't take our assumptions for granted." I tuck the book back under my arm, and as my gaze return to my unwanted guest, I found myself confronted by an unexpected sight.

Olga Marie had just been proven wrong, her arguments dashed, and my own superiority rubbed in her face. True, it was unseemly of me to take pleasure in bullying a four year old girl, regardless of the circumstances, but I had expected-no, I had been _anticipating_ some manner of distraught expression. I had been intending to savor her frustration at her childish pride being poked with her having no recourse for it.

So.

_Why on earth did she look so damnably **smug?!**_

"Hmmhmm," The disheveled child before me hums to herself, eyes twinkling with some hidden malice, "You'd _think_ so, wouldn't you?"

My eyes narrow in suspicion, "I think if otherwise were the case, I would know."

"Oh? Do you really, _really_ think so, Vineas? Hmm~" The girl twirls in place, hands on her hips once again, "You sure are well informed about _mundane_ matters, but I wonder how much you know about the actual, _important_, things?"

Damn Lord Vine! He hasn't taught me anything about the supernatural parts of this world yet! What was he thinking, leaving me ignorant, then forcing me to fend for myself against a harpy like this?!

I fold my arms against my chest, "Things like _what?_" I challenge.

"Things like _magecraft_ of course."

Damn her, I wouldn't lose here! "I...I know _all about_ magecraft." I pause, searching her gaze, probing for weakness, "_Obviously._"

Olga Marie hums her damnable hum, hands on her hips, as she starts looking down her nose, "Really?" A finger extends, gesturing at my chest, "What's your family's magecraft then?"

I look away, lips thinning. Damn you, Sir Vine! "I-it's a secret." I glance back at Olga Marie, mind racing for an angle to retake the initiative, "W-we don't tell outsiders that kind of stuff. That's obvious!" Nervous laughter escapes my lips, playing off the line of questioning.

Golden eyes fill my vision, the little girl now looming over me. Her lips quirking in a smile, absolutely _dripping_ with confidence in her victory. H-how did that even _happen?!_ I am the adult, here! I-I was _winning!_

"_Maaaaaaaaybe~_" She drags out the word, teeth bare, "I'll take your word for it." The dominating pressure diminishes, the girl leaning away with a renewed confidence. Totally misplaced, I'm sure. I was about to show her whatfor, you know, teach her the dignity of an adult, and all that. No kid made a fool out of me, no sir.

I was getting around to figuring out how to do it, too, only for the brat to be saved from my inevitable and incredibly thorough vengeance by a knock on the study's door, "Come in!" The enemy calls out, arms folded over her chest. The door opens to reveal the presence of Lord Vine and Olga Marie's father, whatever his name was.

"Did you two have fun?" The traitorous bastard asks, "It has been a few hours already."

"Yes!" The cheerful voice of the silver haired monster rings out before I could demand satisfaction for this wrong he had inflicted upon me, "Vineas was an excellent host, Lord Vine!"

"Only because my arm was twisted into it." I grumble under my breath with profound dignity.

"I'm glad to hear that, dear." Her father replies, "Perhaps you would like to play again sometime?"

"Please n-"

"Great!" Lord Vine betrays me once again. You'd think a man belonging to a social class famous for its kinslaying would be more cautious. "I'm glad you were able to finally make a friend, son." The blond seditionist glances meaningfully over towards his co-conspirator, "Perhaps we could arrange another meeting in the near future?"

The other man stares at the monster he had brought into this world, as if finally seeing her for the first time in all her terrible glory. Good! Good, I say! Perhaps now you can appreciate what you've inflicted upon others and take measures to answer for your crimes! Like the one you dealt to me! Repent, old man! Realize the weight of your sins and beg for forgiveness from your victims! Victims like me!

"I would not be opposed, no." Damn you, nameless old man! You can't just foist your child upon another man who isn't even the father! What an irresponsible parent! Not to mention, I'm not even being paid for this! Babysitters deserve compensation! Child Care Representation now!

"Capital," My teacher replies, his lips quirking in the closest thing I've seen to a smile since I first met him, "Let me show you out."

The other man turns back towards us, "Come along then, Olga Marie, say goodbye to Vineas so we can go home."

Unkempt silver hair flutters as the girl turned towards me, "You'll be seeing me again, Vineas." She levels her finger at me imperiously, "Don't fall behind before then!" I beg your pardon.

I stare at her blankly. She smiles.

I... blink, not sure where she was going with this. How was I supposed to understand the minds of a member of the opposite sex, especially one that was twenty years younger than me?

Regardless of my confusion, whatever Olga Marie saw in my expression seems to please her. It was with a stunningly bright smile and satisfied huff of breath that she turned around to follow the other two adults out of my study.

What the hell was that supposed to be?

**…**

It wasn't until later that evening that Lord Vine and I would have a chance to discuss the events of the day.

I approach it like the calm, rational adult that I am.

"_What the hell was that about?!_" My teacher quirked an eyebrow, "..._Sir._"

"_That_," Lord Vine replied, "Was an attempt to introduce you to a potential ally, son." I snort with great dignity.

"Why would I want to ally myself with _her_ of all things?"

"Vineas," The man continues, folding his hands together carefully, "Our family spent nearly a thousand years isolating ourselves from our peers in the name of survival and self interest." He pauses, turning away to look at a painting of the Wall in its prime, "We have spent over a thousand years paying for that act of self imposed exile." His eyes flicker towards me, "Among other things." He adds with a low mutter, one I doubt I had been meant to hear.

"As such, we continue to find ourselves isolated from those who we should be closest to. Distanced from the place which ought to be our center of power." Volesus-Gherieli Vine sighs, "We are _alone_, son, and the time will soon come when you will feel that fact most keenly." He pauses, turning towards a nearby cabinet, "You recall our history of two thousand years, correct?"

I nod as the man withdraws a glass tumbler and bottle of whiskey.

The heady scent of alcohol fills my nostrils, at once nostalgic and yet, strangely, wholly foreign to this new body, "I have neglected your education on our family's hereditary mission." He means the Vine family magic, I was sure of that much, "But that is for a _reason_. To allow you to develop your own view on the subject without the biases of the supernatural. To give you the chance to cultivate your own perspective." A finger's worth of rich, amber liquid was poured out, "Unfortunately…" Lord Vine sighs, drinking deeply from it.

"Unfortunately I have realized that with our current means, we are reaching the limit of the path which we have followed."

"Sir?"

"I shall make this clearer to you at a later time, Vineas, but right now I want you to understand that you will need to _rely_ on young Olga Marie in the future, if you wish to live up to the potential I see in you."

"Potential, sir?"

The man places a warm, weathered hand upon my head, patting it gently, "At four years old you have displayed an uncommon affinity for the great project of our family," A pause, another drink, "And a rare aptitude for magecraft far beyond what your grandfather and I possessed at your age."

This was...odd. It was unlike Lord Vine to be so...emotional, I suppose? He was a stern man, usually. I hadn't expected him to show this kind of emotional vulnerability to me. It caught me off guard.

"It's just…" He took another drink, seeming to gather his thoughts, "Such a _waste_ for you to be limited by the same walls I am destined to. Not when I can see you achieving so much _more_, son." The man sighs, making this more times I've seen him sigh in one day than all the years I've known him thus far, rubbing his hand against my head once more, "Forgive your old man his moment of weakness, eh?"

Lord Vine was a good man. If I had not already had a father that I dearly love, there would have been no shame in having him as my own. I imagine that, if the life I had replaced had been brought into this world in truth, that boy would feel nothing but pride in the one who stands before me.

But I was not this man's son, no matter how much I had sometimes wished for it.

"There is nothing to forgive, sir." I sigh, brushing his hand aside to better meet his gaze, "You are simply doing the best you can."

The sandy blond chuckles, crushing my stolen body in a one-armed hug. His gesture was meant to be warm, yet all I could feel was disgust. I had usurped a boy's life, and in an abstract way, this good man's own hopes for the future.

"So," Lord Vine rumbles challengingly, "Tell me about what you and the girl got up to, eh? You can share in a spot of men's talk with your old man, eh?"

Well, I was hardly about to brag about losing an argument to a four year old, and I _was_ wondering…"Actually," I pause, "Olga Marie said something that stood out to me before you showed up."

"Oh?" My teacher chuckles saucily, "Confessed her love to ya, eh? My boy, the lady-killer!"

What? Ew, _no._ I grimace, "Not even remotely."

"Hmm?" Lord Vine hums, motioning with his empty glass for me to continue.

"She and I had been discussing prehistory," I began, "It was an argument I had been winning, of course."

"Of course," The man agrees easily, "How _were_ you winning, pray tell?"

"She claimed the Atlanteans were responsible for all nautical achievements before Erik the Red," I scoff, "So I pointed out how there was ample evidence of other possibilities, and she may as well have claimed everything was the work of _aliens_." I add, embellishing the story a bit.

No idea why Lord Vine's grip tightened a bit then, probably a bad memory of dealing with some Stonehenge conspiracy nut, "So I said that without _evidence_, she'd never be able to prove her Atlantean hypothesis. And the only way she'd be able to get such evidence is if she were to somehow go _back_ in time and record the events _directly_, or at least have a way of _observing_ them, you know?"

"Quite right." The man besides me agrees.

"But then it was so _strange_," I shake my head, trying to recall the details in full, "When I mentioned that, she got all smug, as if she knew something I didn't, and began talking about magic as if that had anything to do with the conversation at that point." I glance towards Lord Vine then, "_Does_ magic like that exist, sir?"

He chuckles, "Not at all boy," Sandy locks shift as he shakes his head, "If there was, you can rest assured that your old man would have been the first to-" The arm around me stiffens, and the pale complexion of the my teacher took on a new, pallid sheen.

Next came a crash, the sound of the crystal tumbler shattering on the floor after slipping from nerveless fingers. I stare at him in profound worry, desperate to find out what was wrong. He had never acted anything close to this before. No, no, Lord Vine knew magic, surely nothing could happen to him within his own home?!

"_Animusphere,_" He breaths, seeming equal part dread and awe. What did that mean? Had he been poisoned? I need to get help- "You _son of a bitch._" His grip returns, pinning me in place. My mind reels, racing to recall where the staff were at this time of night. The walls were thick and meant to be soundproofed, there was no way they would hear me shout unless I was in the hall-

"I'm _fine_, boy!" Two hands shook my shoulders roughly, and I nod instinctively.

"Y-yes, sir." I stammer out, breathing in deeply to try and recollect myself as my teachers grip tightens, "What...What _was_ that, sir?"

Volesus-Gherieli Vine stares at me like a man possessed. To my relief and my dread, his lips twitch not into a snarl, but into a victorious smirk, "Olga Marie's old man thought he could get one over me." Blue eyes bore searchingly, almost hungrily, into my own, "The girl changed her tune around the time you started talking about seeing proof directly."

It wasn't a question, but I nod anyway.

Lord Vine breathes deeply, slapping my shoulders as he straightened himself, rising to his full height.

"_Capital_."

**…**

I may be judged poorly, perhaps, for not putting two and two together. After all, I was quite the fan of Type-Moon my first time around, and I was amply familiar with the Grand Order, up to a point. But in my defense, and I can not emphasize this enough, it had been over _four years_ since I had thought of the game, and it was 1995 at the time. This predated the timescale of any of Nasu's works. Moreover, my magical education up to that point consisted of 'it exists, I'll tell you when you're older' which, while at the time was somewhat frustrating, in hindsight was likely the correct avenue to take. Given that fictional magical nobility are almost _universally_ insufferable, and I am of the _mostly_ validated opinion that they do not become tolerable until after being dealt some form of humble pie... That ran away from me, but my point is that I just wasn't _allowed_ to see the signs to recognize them in the first place.

Plus, I thought that the closest thing that I had to a parent in this life had _just_ been poisoned by one of the _help_. I can be forgiven for panicking, I think. I had no wish to add "Body of a child, mind of an adult" jokes to my internal dialogues while within my own home, thank you.

Nor do I think I could have survived some Scottish Detective Mouri equivalent. Ugh.

Well, even if I could have, _hypothetically_, put together the pieces _and_ clues _and_ divined my circumstances from the ether, I still find myself satisfied with how events had played out. This was how I wound up making my first, and greatest, friend in this life.

Besides, even if I had known how things would play out, I doubt that I would have knowingly changed a thing.

After all, what was there for me to regret?

From the very beginning, Chaldea was everything I had ever wanted.

**...**

**Author's Note: It's been a while since I've taken a stab at a longform story that wasn't a quest, hell, I think the last time I wrote a straightforward fanfic was Tower of Glorious Bastards in what feels like an eternity ago. Credit goes to Recursive Anathema for inspiring me to take a stab at it, though. Some of you may have noticed, but this is very clearly an Isekai story, although if you would do me the favor of assuming that this won't be your standard fare it'd be deeply appreciated.**

**I don't intend to let this story drag on, either. I've got a pretty solid grasp of how many chapters it ought to take to finish, and my own sense of humor aside it should be a fair bit more somber than the tone of my other projects.**

**I'm going to be doing something fairly different here, in terms of these kinds of stories. While I won't make any bold claims about matching some of the best works out of the fandom out of the gate, I am still going to be fairly ambitious here. Just don't expect any Servants to be showing up any time soon, and for those of you who know the setting well, I hope that you'll be able to pick up on the relevant cues as we go along.**

**This story will not have a happy ending.**

**Enjoy.**


	2. Second Chapter

"I have been remiss in your training," My Master told me one day, his voice steady and authoritative, "This was to your benefit, however."

The statement was confusing. How could messing up my education be to my benefit? That seems as if it was a contradiction at best, and a joke made at my expense at worst, "How is that, sir?"

Blue eyes narrow from behind a pair of glasses, "I withheld magical instruction to cultivate your mindset."

_Mindset?_ I stare at Lord Vine searchingly, imploring him to continue.

He obliges, "As you already know, son," The blond man before me slides his glasses off and pockets them, before staring at me in full. I find myself stepping back before the intensity of his gaze, "The Vine are _magi_, and have been for over two thousand years." A sudden energy takes him, and my mind flickers absently to certain assumptions about magus personality quirks, "This is a tradition we carry proudly, for the sake of our eternal ambition. Our unending project."

"The Swirl of the Root, sir?" I ask. My teacher had never mentioned it in my presence, but now that I knew the place I had began anew in, I could piece themes of the setting together. The pursuit of Akasha was one of the greatest driving forces behind the development of Magecraft, and it was only natural that a family that had existed as long as the Vine clan would seek it out in turn.

Lord Vine's mouth twitches into a smirk, "The very same." He folds his arms behind his back, and begins to walk down the hall. I follow, naturally, "What made you arrive at that conclusion, son?" The man asks, never breaking stride, never looking back.

"There can only be one Truth, sir." I reply instinctively, the words dropping naturally from my lips, for I know them to be true, "The study of history is to seek the knowledge of the past itself, so…" I pause, preparing my phrasing, "Why would we _not_ follow that to its logical conclusion?"

My Master's expression shifts into a wide smile, and a burst of momentary pride erupts in this child's breast, smothered quickly as the man before me stops; his eyes widening.

"Vineas." His voice is now soft, "Why do you think that applies to anyone _other_ than yourself?"

I still. What did he mean by anyone other than myself? "Well-" It's obvious, isn't it? Magi pursue the Root, and if the Vine seek it for themselves, given their focus on history, it's only natural isn't it? Oh. Oh _riiiiiiiiiiiiight_. I only knew that because I was familiar with the underpinnings of this setting. I glance down at too small feet.

Setting?

"Well, what?" The harsh voice of Volesus-Gherieli Vine breaks me from my stupor.I glance upwards to meet his eyes, blue orbs suddenly wary, and I swallow in sudden trepidation.

Oh, right, I couldn't tell him 'Because I'm familiar with Type-Moon properties' could I? He'd consider me mad, and that would certainly be dangerous even in _mortal_ society. Yes, that would explain the fear I was feeling for sure. What else could explain that conclusion?

"You said before," I begin, mind searching for hints, "That I had shown an affinity for the 'project of our family', sir." I settle on the memory of our conversation after my meeting Olga-Marie, "And that it was tied to my mindset." All true, in fact, "If that's the case, Lord Vine," He flinches, "Doesn't that mean that since I can think of nothing else, then it can only _be_ that?"

The man before me frowns, not meeting my eyes, and in that moment I felt a pang of guilt. Was it because I had referred to him by title? Or was it because he had forgotten his own words ahead of this conversation, even if he had not been the only one? Perhaps I should as-

"I apologize, Vineas." My teacher says, the fire in his eyes now extinguished, "You are quite right, please. Forgive your Father for such a silly oversight." His expression suddenly full of pain, he reaches out to ruffle my hair, and I let him. I wasn't sure why, but even I was not so blind to see that he needs that action for his own sake, more than mine.

It was the very least I could do.

...But, perhaps I ought to do a little more?

"Father," I say, the word malformed on my lips, "Where are we going?" Lord Vine blinks, before seeming to return to himself and clearly welcoming the change of topic.

"My workshop," He says, continuing down the hall as I follow behind, "Where the mystery that the Vine have pursued for centuries lays stored." We arrive at an innocuous expanse of wall, "_Hoc est arcani_," Lord Vine whispers, and the flat space vanishes to reveal a staircase leading downwards, "Our ancestral project, son." His posture, usually so still and in control, trembles with a faint excitement. It's a nice change of pace from the norm, the kind of atmosphere you see from hobbyists discussing their true passion.

We continue in an companionable silence edged with an electric excitement, the way down lit by carved symbols in the increasingly damp stone walls. It takes a long while, and so I glance at the sources of illumination as we walk further down. At first, I assume them to be simple nordic runes. I ply my passing familiarity with Elder Futhark from before my death to attempt to identify the runic markings.

Yet, it was strange.

Elder Futhark, no, most Scandinavian and Germanic runes that I was familiar with, were fairly simplistic. Consisting of straight lines or simple geometric shapes to form uncomplicated symbols. It was an easy to decipher language, once you knew the structure and meanings behind it all. Even in the absence of understanding other portions of it.

That is why it was so strange.

These symbols didn't resemble the runes I was familiar with _at all_. The closest that I could say on the subject was that if normal runic script was the equivalent of block letters, then the symbology in front of me would only be considered their cursive equivalent. The symbols and lines are far more curved, being whorled and oftentimes flowing into one another. I could hardly recognize it for the life of me, and as I rack my mind ever further, the atmosphere around my new body suddenly _shifts_. I turn to stare in curiosity upon the wide shoulders of Lord Vine. He stands before a sheer stone wall that is glistening with moisture.

He stands upright, arms spread wide, "Now, Vineas," He takes a deep breath, "Behold our _legacy!_" The wall ripples from some some unknown cue and fades. Something tells me that this was abnormal. Every sense I possess had been sure of the nature of the rock that was now gone. In this moment I realize; _this_ was the magecraft I had sought. The miracleworking I had pursued with my own two hands.

"Amazing," I said, ignoring the pang in my chest, "I had thought that thing was real, sir."

Volesus-Gherieli Vine snorts, "Not that parlor trick, boy!" He gestures, leading me into the bright light of the vast space that lay within, "_This!_"

_Ah,_ I realize absently, _But isn't a Magi's Workshop their most private sanctuary? Why show it to me?_

The man grins with pride and poorly concealed excitement, and I play my part to the best of my ability, restrained by an nearly dread uncertainty that came from entering a magus's most private sanctuary without explicit reason. The room behind the wall is filled with a number of shelves, stacked high with heavy scrolls. It's very air is filled with a sense of dust and nostalgia. Several tables line a vast cavern, each filled to groaning with unfurled maps and dioramas. Incredibly complex arrays of lens wall around every table.

"Seems impressive, does it not?" Lord Vine says with a smile, "And yet this is merely the nerve center of a far grander complex, vast in scope beyond what you can see here. Come." To prove his claim, my teacher shows me to the largest lense in the room, a polished mirror within the chamber's heart, illuminated and reflecting an alien vista. The land revealed within is filled to bursting with a sea of trees, "This too, is a part of my workshop." He says with clear relish before snaps his fingers, causing the image to shift to a village of strange humanoids in greens and browns, crouching over a weakly crackling fire.

A dozen more examples prove the vast dimensions of the room. My eyes are drawn towards the rune-lined walls of the main chamber, where some of the characters faintly glow in the sights revealed by the mirror. Lord Vine explains their purpose; creating a bounded field of extraordinary complexity, an expanded space beneath the earth. This entire false space was rooted in a simple cavern but meant to act as a sequence of quarantine zones and environments that constantly shift in arrangement as they mixed and matched different elements with one another. With an application of personal effort and skillful use of runecraft allowing for more environments to be added on so long as the conditions are perfectly defined, it was a way of crafting artificial preserves tailored to recreate entire ecosystems on command. Locations in which the conditions of times long past could be replicated and tested with a degree of authenticity to the results.

"The reason for this is deeply connected our work, my boy," Lord Vine declares as he shows me another room, where there stands a massive contraption of several dioramas stacked upon one another in a precariously balanced tower. Each diorama is different and reflects a separate time with exacting detail. Even as I awe at the construction, it's subtle power noticeable even to my purely mundane senses, I could still see the spaces allow for more layers to be added into the construction, even as it reached ever higher towards a ceiling hidden by shadow.

Light catches on a silver surface, and my eyes find the source of the reflection: A bright, cunningly worked model of a knight, their armor polished bronze and a silver sword raised high, even as they faced down a crouched figure in blue. My eyes widen as a sense of bloodlust, fear, anguish, despair, frustration and above all pure determination echoes from those diminutive figures. A spear in the hand of the blonde haired warrior fills me with a sense of recognition and I _know what this is!_ I _know it in my soul for how could I not kno-_

"Behold." My master declares, his calm and level voice snaps me from my stupor like a cannon roar. All I can manage is to turn a jump into a start, and my eyes break their focus to turn to him, as he gestures towards the construction, "The _Etemenanki!_" I blink, not recognizing the word, "This tower is the Mystic Code that is representative of our families efforts for over _two thousand years!_ A perfect tower meant to catalogue and analyze the different stages of human history on the isle of Britain, perfectly conformed to match the Vine family's trait as magi!" Lord Vine smiles, teeth shining in the artificial light, "Can you guess what it is, my son?"

I glance upwards at the magnificent construction, and the answer seems fairly obvious, "The construction of towers."

His grin widens, and he digs into a nearby pouch, withdrawing a glittering handful of dust, "No, but very close Vineas!" He raises his open palm up to his face, and turns towards the immense diorama, "We Vine are masters of the manipulation of _layers!_" He breathes deeply, and with a loud exhalation, the fine dust in his hand scatters, filling the air with faintly twinkling motes.

A phantom breeze fills the chamber, and the cloud of dust is caught in it, expanding into immense heights, and then slowly guided into the immense construction before me. In that moment, even to my untrained eye, Lord Vine's meaning becomes obvious.

Shimmering within pixiedust is an immense shell of thrumming power, protecting the fragile tower within from outside interference. Ensconced within its shell is a thousand smaller bubbles, their true form only now clear to me. What had seemed to be a still and lifeless diorama had been anything but. The figures are moving. On one layer stands London, bombed out and defiant with the shrill cries of V2s soaring in from across the Channel. They mercilessly strike down upon the United Kingdom, but even their explosions are insufficient to keep the voice of Winston Churchill from whispering courage and strength into my ears.

Further down is a scene from two thousand years past, a red-headed queen striking with rage and hatred and loss, crucifying the innocent at the head of her army of victims. They pursue vengeance in the only manner they knew how. Their fate will be the inevitable result of a cycle of violence.

Without even my conscious input, my eyes turn to that long-past battle on the hill. The knights of Camelot are dead, almost to the last, as King Arthur strikes with the Lance that Shines to the Ends of the World.

These are no mere models, they are _recreations_ in the truest sense. Windows to the past in miniature, perfectly rendered so they took on a life of their own, as they tread well-worn paths.

A hand claps roughly on my shoulder, "Beautiful, isn't it?"

I nodded.

"Do you know _why_ we've built this?"

I could not look away, even as the dust fades away and the tower returns to mere normalcy. As if of its own accord, my lips move, "Does not something like this justify its own existence?"

My teacher chuckles, "That may be, my son," His hand tightens, "But it is something that is only the foundation to a much _greater_ project." He gestures towards the bottom of the tower, which even now I could tell led deep into the earth, filled with shadow. A chasm that thrums deeply with a foundation of immense power.

"The Root." I gasp in realization, "All of _this…_" My voice trails off as I gesture towards the construction before me, "It's about knowing what the past _looks like_," But there was something missing. Yes, the missing information on the past was obvious, but why go with a tower when the Vine clan manipulates layers? Where was the payoff? How did this reveal the way to Akasha, the ambition of any modern magi?

"The Vine's chosen path to Akasha," Volesus-Gherieli Vine began, voice dripping with relish, "Is to perceive the various layers of reality, otherwise known as _textures_, and see past their veils to the very beginning. To witness the very emptiness from which all things began." He gestures towards the pit in the earth, "Deep within there, Vineas, lies the First Truth." I turn towards Lord Vine then, his eyes full with pride, "And it is my belief, son, that _you_ will be the one to reach it in your lifetime."

A fine ambition.

A marvelous one, even. Something I could admire to the core of my being. Perceive and understand the facts of history? Recreate past in exacting detail, and study from it to reveal the true nature of reality in all its forms? Work backwards and infer the very first moment, to discover the proverbial _I am_? I could only stand in awe of the grand scope of the Vine clan's dream.

But it was not _my_ dream.

Even so, as I look into the eyes of the man I had robbed, and met his smiling face, full with a true, sincere happiness, I resolve myself to answer that wish of his. Even if his hope was not my own, how could I answer this man with anything less?

"I won't let you down, father."

For the very first time, that man hugs me.

…

From that moment on, my education in the ways of the Moonlit World began. The first, and frankly most difficult lesson, was the introduction to the basic mechanics of magecraft. The art of thaumaturgy is the act of creating a result within the realm of reality through supernatural means. To that effect, thaumaturgy is a _means_ which is poorly defined and hidden from prying eyes. A Mystery. Fundamentally a parlor trick, but on a grander scale. The realm of Magic lies beyond mere reality, where true miracles are found. I suppose that is why the Animusphere elected to frankenstein themselves Chaldea as a mixture of technological and thaumaturgical means to pull off their own nonsense. To bridge that gap.

To that end, in order to enact magecraft, one must convert internal magical energy into an effect upon the outside world. This requires the Magus to act in accord with a Foundation, a set of predetermined rules that interfere with the world, once invoked. The means by which this is done is, of course, magical energy via a pseudo-organ called 'Magic Circuits'. These are classified by three factors, all of which culminate in their overall effectiveness: Quantity, Quality, and Composition. The first is a simple numeric presentation, and is a multiplier of the latter two factors. The second is Quality, which reflects the overall capacity of each individual circuit. Composition merely informs their nature. All told, they amount to an accurate description of the magus' own abilities to generate energy, with the first two factors being assigned an ascending Alphabetical ranking of E-EX, with Composition describing the nature as well as any abnormalities that they would be capable of.

I was not anything amazing on that front. An average magus has twenty circuits and I only possessed twenty-five. According to Lord Vineas their quality sat comfortably at the unremarkable B+ Rank with a Normal composition. No need to be born with anything particularly outlandish. No need to be in possession of some poorly thought out cheat power, thank you.

I...have been rambling, which is not surprising to me. The particulars of Magic Circuits are so much _neater_ to describe than their actual effects, so I hope that I can be forgiven for distracting myself from that recollection. Since then, I have been told that four years of age is considered to be rather old for getting one's Magic Circuits awoken. Some parents consider it acceptable to take toddlers, normal children barely capable of forming a sense of identity, and subject them to such things...This is a revolting concept to me. Let there be no mistake, I barely consider it acceptable that my own stolen body was treated to the act, much less a poor ignorant infant.

Whatever failings Volesus-Gherieli Vine may possess as a human being, that man loves his son.

I continue to distract myself. Very well. In this…_setting_ the act of performing Magecraft is monstrously torturous. The human body is not meant to take the energy that fuels its life and force it through its own soul until the energy becomes something else entirely. The very _act_ of utilizing one's Magic Circuits is to kill yourself, a little bit at a time, and your body does not let you forget that fact. Not for an instant. "To walk the path of the Magus is to walk alongside death" was said by some pretentious asshole, and that nugget of wisdom alone is the truth. For, improperly handled, the very act of fueling one's magecraft can kill you. The agony is crippling until you adapt to it. Until you master spells, they can be mismanaged and backfire against you. Other magi may kill you, until you grow beyond them.

Somewhere, deep within me, past the anguish and the pain of my soul pouring liquid fire through my body, I could feel myself yearning for the goal of obtaining it all. The experience of burning myself to obtain a certain strength. To master the mysteries of the world, to shape it in my image. The all-enthralling anticipation of the moment when I see their light vanish before my very eyes.

But the magecraft I was learning was not meant for the battlefield, even if it was certainly capable of holding its own on one. Yes, Lord Vine taught that the pain we live through, as we enact our Mysteries, brings to us a clarity of sight by purging idle pleasures for the sake of the goal before our eyes.

I respect that vision, and for the sake of my benefactor, act to embody it.

So for four years I trained, and my Magic Circuits burned me, but the pain became comfortable with familiarity. When I was five years old, Lord Vine decreed that it was time I became the Heir in truth, over my objections.

My back was flayed.

The agony was...indescribable, for I can not recall anything past the initial moments of the surgery. But for those first few moments, imagine the following: You are on your stomach, naked upon an immense stone tablet, stained with the blood of those from ages past. The fear grips your heart, for you have been told what is to come, and what an _honor_ this is. Then you are told that to minimise the risks of rejection, the ritual, that has been in the line for countless generations, will be followed to the letter as it was first performed.

Thus, there will be no anesthetic.

You await under a cold, clinical light with the casual sound of tools being sharpened, and you idly wonder how the first one to perform the surgery managed to remove the offending _organ_ to no ill effect, as your father prepares to inflict it upon you.

There is an incision. The feel of bone parting your flesh so easily even as the one doing it assures you that you are doing well, that you are _so very brave_ and telling you how much he loves you as he _digs in_ with countless implements which tear deeply into your body and your nerves cry out as you _feel_ your spine meet the cold air far beneath the earth but even this does not exceed your threshold. For a year you have poured molten lead through your nerves for hours upon hours each day, strengthening your pain tolerance, assuming it was _just_ for the sake of magecraft and not recalling the existence of the most valued pride of a maguses lineage:

The Magic Crest. A collection of the spells and accumulated knowledge imprinted upon the Magic Circuits of a family's great contributors. Guaranteeing a record of their accomplishments, and assuring that their research and favored spells would be carried on to the next generation, outlasting even their own lives. The Magic Crest of the Vine Clan held the history of over two thousand years. It is said that ones Magic Circuits physically manifest as a kind of pseudo-nervous system. For one of that age, of that aggregate size, it is only natural that there is only one place to put it.

Imagine, if you will, if your back was sliced open, flayed so that your spine is entirely exposed to the open air.

Imagine, if you will, the fear, the terror, the pain and knowledge of what is to come.

Imagine the moment, and know that your imagination is insufficient. That for all your attempts to gird yourself for the horror that awaits, you still fail, as countless alien tendrils latch on to your supporting pillar, the control tower of your body, the nerves which govern sensation and command over your very self. The moment in which the nerves are _invaded_ by a foreign, outside force as it _burrows into your flesh and bone and sinew as your very marrow is violated and you __**feel**_ _it hunger and drink deeply from that essence as it fights off your struggles and something saps you of your strength as you fight and __**fight!**_

But you do nothing save scream.

And scream.

And _scream._

And then there is blissful darkness.

I can not speak for other lineages and how they handle the transfer of crests, save the rather disgusting broth which is later served to ease the transition which seems to be a nigh-universal factor, but I can comfortably say that establishing one's foundation as a magus is a horrifying affair. Painful? Oh yes. _Indescribably_ so, in fact. But far worse is the existential dread, as you are faced with death every day, dying for the sake of a single sliver of progress down the path of thaumaturgy.

Really.

Is it any wonder that we turn out mad?

In the three years since then, I was determined to be fit to be properly taught the family's magecraft. The Vine were an eclectic bunch, as far as spells were concerned. Strongest, of course, were those techniques rooted in the families speciality of "Manipulation of Layers" which took on numerous forms. The most common were some flavor of "Raising and Lowering Barriers" which results in numerous skills in concern to the art of Bounded Fields. This was especially true of the _Etemenanki_, which is an extremely complicated series of interlocking Bounded Fields which creates a sympathetic result by resonating with the planet's own memory of those locations to fill in the gaps necessary to bring them to life. My master had explained that was an innovation hard-bargained for with the Sea of Astray, a third part of the Mage's Association different from the Clock Tower - which the Vine were associated with - and the Atlas Institute, which I vaguely understood to be somewhere in Egypt.

I've mentioned before that the Vine family also has a number of combat-applicable spells, and this was supported by the family's general tendency to produce scions with an affinity for the element of Wind. In this regard I was no exception, and though many of these were on the level of mere cantrips, several of the oldest dated back to the clan's history of relying upon ships for their mercantile efforts. Memories of arias meant to invoke winds which could summon up storms and cast aside maelstroms were buried within the Crest, each one demanding an immense amount of energy I doubt I could produce alone under my original capabilities under any circumstances. But the Vine Magic Crest? I suspect that with it's backing such things would indeed be possible once this body reaches maturity.

Well, I have no intentions of commanding a ship at sea any time soon, so I doubt it would be all that relevant.

When I was seven years old, my teacher gifted me my first Mystic Code: The glasses from his own head.

"These are a Mystic Code that have been in our family for over five hundred years, Vineas." He says after I had manage to master a spell that allows me probe the features of a Bounded Field, "They were made from the Pure Eyes of one of the siblings of the family head at the time, who had desired to leave them behind for future generations."

"Why not…" I had grab a nearby spoon and mime digging out my own eyeball, complete with an over exaggerated popping onomatopoeia, "If he wanted to do that, sir?" I had long since gotten used to the macabre acts of self-mutilation which Magi seemed to pride themselves on. Humans are nothing if not adaptable.

"An excellent question, Vineas." Blue eyes meet my own, "While surgery to implant Mystic and Pure Eyes is the norm, that man understood that if a freak mutation like his own had resulted in the creation of Pure Eyes, then there was the possibility of an Heir to the family developing a similarly useful set of Pure Eyes, or even Mystic Eyes." He hums thoughtfully, placing the spectacles in their aged case before handing them over to me, "The man wished that, rather than forcing such a prodigy to choose between inheriting _his_ legacy and developing their own- which was no choice at all - he would let such a future member of our family have _both_, and thus be all the stronger for it."

I open the case, carefully settling the glasses onto my own nose. They were too large, but after running energy through the frames they swiftly fit themselves to my younger size. I turn towards my teacher, "What do they do?"

He hums nostalgically, "They let one perceive various barriers and supernatural divisions within the world around us." He smiles, "The original owner of those eyes even claimed that he could see the _texture_ of the very world we lived upon, although none of us have since managed to replicate the feat." Lord Vine shakes his head at that, "Although I suspect you'll likely manage something similar in the future."

I glance downwards, "Is that so?" I was still determined to repay the man's faith in me, even if I could not understand it.

"Yes," My teacher's hand reaches out, ruffling my hair once more, "Once you progress far enough in your training, I'll even let you take a look at his notes, I'm sure it'll give you all sorts of inspiration." I don't quite believe it, but I nod all the same.

So time passes, as my body slowly but surely acclimates, not just to the alien sensations of my own Magic Circuits, but the foreign body that was the Vine Magic Crest.

When I was eight years old, the Near-Future Observation Lens "SHEBA" was completed. I met Olga-Marie Animusphere for the second time, and one other. After that night, no other possibilities could exist. Because of them, my path would be set until the very, very end.

**...**

The day started simply enough. I was awoken by one of the maids, a process I still found alien even after eight years of acclimation in this body. The woman who gave birth to this body happened to be present in the dining hall that morning, absorbed in her own concerns. I ignored her as much as she ignored me as I retrieved and ate breakfast. I exercised via a healthy mix of anaerobics and practicing with a wooden sword to help develop the musculature of my upper body. And besides, the feeling of the sword's grip in my hands, going through practice drills in preparation for combat against unseen foes was the most invigorating part of my day. My sole pleasure in the monotony and agony, as I honed myself for combat that I swore would never come. My body was still too young for truly intensive training, but a healthy mind requires a healthy body, thus I pursued it each day as part of my routine, before I retreated to Sir Vine's workshop for my daily training in thaumaturgy.

What greeted me there that morning was anything but normal...Relatively speaking.

"Vineas," Lord Vine begins, looking up at me from poring over a new diorama as I enter the large chamber, "I think you're old enough for your public debut, don't you?"

I stare at the man, gobsmacked, "Sir?"

"Yes, you're about the right age, aren't you?" Past lessons taught me that he wasn't truly asking me a question, he was probing me to see if I would reach a similar conclusion on my own.

If only I had the foggiest clue what that was. "Sir, what are you talking about?"

In answer my teacher passes me a gilded envelope, the parchment heavy in my eight year old hands. It reads:

_Lord and Lady Billy-Mari Animusphere request the pleasure of your company to celebrate the momentous achievement of Ser Lev Lainur and Madame Olga-Marie Animusphere in the completion of their long-time collaboration on the Near-Future Observation Lens SHEBA on-_

"Naturally," Volesus-Gherieli Vine interrupts my reading with a drawl, clearly finding the rest irrelevant, "We shall be going."

I glance back at the invitation, specifically the date of the event, "This is _tonight!_" I glare at the man before me, who had the temerity to be lackadaisical in the face of my displeasure as to not even look me in the eye, "How long ago did you receive this invitation?!"

"Six weeks ago, " Lord Vine replies easily.

"And you thought not to mention this to me _why?_"

My master continues making minute adjustments to his current project, "I had not wanted to unnecessarily distract you from your training."

"A great deal of difference that makes _now._" I grind out.

"Better one day than forty-two," Comes the casual response, "Don't worry about the other arrangements, it's just a casual dinner party so you only need to be dressed well and ready to interact with others. You can handle that, can't you?"

"Yes, sir."

With a perfunctory nod, Lord Vine ends the conversation, and with that I mull over the meaning of that invitation. My mind gathers together its memories of the settings lore: The year is 1999, I understand that intellectually. But that has a few more meanings. Around ten years ago, there was a confrontation between the Aozaki sisters, this was something that Lord Vine had made a passing mention of when I asked him about 'asian savages'. Five years ago had been the Fourth Holy Grail War, and in five years would be the Fifth and final one. I had seen no mention of the Dead Apostle Ancestors, nor any mention of one Michael Roa Valdamjong in the Vine family records that I had been able to study. This meant that the plot of Tsukihime likely wasn't an issue. With the completion of the SHEBA lens, this in turn was likely the timeline where the events of Grand Order would play out.

If things went well, then I might even get a chance to buy Edmond Dantes a beer over a ganking well done! Considerations for the future.

The day passes too swiftly in such idle musings, and all too soon Lord Vine and myself return to the manor proper in the early afternoon. Before we part ways to prepare for the event to come, my teacher informs me that we were going to arrive in London by air. So it was with a thrill of anticipation that I await my first airplane trip in this current life. They had been a rarity in my previous one so I may be pardoned if I find the novelty still existed, even if more childish impulses were not a concern…? Something about that thought didn't seem right.

Dismissing such ideas for the moment, I throw myself into focusing on my preparations. The gathering was one of respected families among the Mage's Association, given the Animusphere's position, and my own recollection that Lev was supposed to be a highly valued faculty member- before he had been headhunted by Chaldea. It might be interesting to see him before he becomes possessed by a demon, but it would just be far too troublesome to get involved with him before then. I would rather avoid it if at all possible.

"Where is the plane?" I ask Lord Vine. His wife says something, but whatever she says can not reach the magnitude of what I see in the backyard of the manor, where three broomsticks hover ominously over the ground.

"Vineas, why would we take a plane just to get to _London?_" The man stares at me, almost legitimately baffled, "We invested in that blasted Orange's innovation for a _reason_."

I glance down at my outfit, a smart, finely cut, dark navy blue suit, in its lapel rests a round flower with five petals, its natural colors creating an image of a lavender circle with a white five pointed star centered around its yellow core. Sir Vine had said it meant 'inspiration' or something, which means it was likely him trying his hand at that eugenics thing I recall being a common practice among nobility.

What an odd hobby, but what could you do?

_Aristocrats._

The adults ignore my sigh as we mount the broomsticks, and with a coordinated gesture the devices launch. I won't belabor the journey. It was unexpectedly smooth. There was a hitch from being an eight year old child holding an awkward posture for several hours that made me wonder at the lack of a charlie horse, and then we handed the contraptions off to a very nice valet whom Lord Vine made sure to tip very handsomely. I was left to come to terms with my… unique experience on my own.

Given how the boy's expression lit up, I suppose that my teacher's claim of the family's relative wealth was no idle boast!

The hall is...large, I suppose. I hope I can be forgiven for glossing over the details, as I do not particularly _want_ to be here and was _far_ more engrossed in trying to see if I could recognize any prominent Nasuverse characters on our way in. It's not polite to gawk, but I am in the body of an eight year old so I don't think anyone would have minded.

Hmm. The building, at least through the eyes of the glasses that I had been gifted, was surrounded by an incredibly dense Bounded Field. There are so many layers of effects and intents I couldn't even _understand_ it all, let alone puzzle out the mechanics of them! How fascinating, I'm sure if it were my f-_master_ he would be able to figure things out. But there is no reason for myself to get so excited here. It was not my place to geek out over the mechanics of the world around me.

I was here as Vineas Vine, Heir of the Vine Family, one of the twenty lesser families of the Clock Tower.

As the one who carries the dreams of Volesus-Gherieli Vine on his back, I could not be anything less than perfect. We stride into the banquet hall, and Lord Vine takes myself and his wife to make introductions to the attendees, and brag about my own potential and aptitude for the craft. But there was no need for him to exaggerate, this body's specs were decidedly average, after all. I knew that much at least. It would take time to acclimate to the true source of my own potential strength, the borrowed power of the Vine Magic Crest. That is fine. It was my role to be the noble heir, and one I threw myself into with gusto. A dozen empty smiles became two dozen, three, and then a hundred, and as the sea of new faces tapers off into an unrecognizable mass I feel my attention wander.

"Oh, pardon me Miss Reines," Lord Vine's voice suddenly cuts through the developing fog of my thoughts, "Now son," His voice is quiet, and his breath is surprisingly cool against my ear, "Why don't you grab your mother and I a drink?" A large hand grabs me by the shoulder and points me towards the refreshment tables.

"Yes, sir." I answer automatically, and as the pressure is released from my shoulder I begin to make my way over to try and grab some champagne for myself along with Lord Vine and his wife. I would never reach that refreshment table. Nor the champagne. More's the pity.

"Hey! Hey you!" Pure gold fills my vision, "Who're you?!" I look up, and a long-dormant instinct warns that I stand in the presence of a carnivore, a creature of pure, mindless carnage. An animal fear possesses me, as a young woman leans forward to look me in the eye with a wide, toothy grin.

Fingers snap in my face, I blink. I do not sputter.

"Hey kid, my name's Arciel!" She sticks her hand out, taking my own, "Arciel Yves du Bifronnes! Give me yours!" Her teeth are too white, and her eyes unblinking. I gulp. In a very manly fashion.

"Vineas," I reply, fingers gripping back as best they can, "Vineas Vine." I present a weak smile of my own, "It's a pleasure."

My name given, I try to look for a means to escape, but the monster already has me in her grip, "What's your deal, Vineas?" Her eyes roam over me, as if seeing something only she can. Which was odd, as I had looked over myself several times with these Pure Eye Spectacles, and could confirm that that was nothing particularly off about this body.

"I-I don't know what you mean, Miss Bifronnes?" There was likely only one thing which truly separates me from everyone else here, surely she couldn't see…?

"I'm not sure you don't." The unnerving creature said with her intense stare, "If anything, I'm pretty sure you know exactly what's going on." Her eyes still have yet to blink.

"What could possibly be interesting about me?" I say weakly, "If anything, the really exceptional one is Miss Animusphere. So young, and already with such a huge accomplishment under her belt!"

Thin, elegant shoulders roll in a shrug. She still has not let me go, "Little miss Olga-Marie is genius, sure, but there are plenty of _those_." She glances away towards the thickest gathering of attendees, where the girl in question was likely holding court, "_You_, on the other hand…" Her head turns back, an almost languid motion, "I don't know what _you_ are."

I bow my head in apology, "I'm no one special, I promise."

Arciel Yves du Bifronnes stares at me with her unnerving gaze, before she finally blinks for the first time, "You really believe that, don't you?" I nod, "Well Vinea, don't sell yourself short." Her hand finally lets go. This seems to be in service of giving me false hope, as she almost immediately claps me on the shoulder, her free limb tossing back her gold locks showily, "I'm sure you'll do something impressive or crazy down the line."

I take a step back, "Thank you for the vote of confidence, but my father asked me to get him a drink."

The creature pauses, her smile finally dimming, "Oh! Sorry about that." She steps aside, "Well Vineas, make sure to keep in touch. Kid in your position needs all the friends he can get, you know?" With an absent wave she departs, as suddenly as she had arrived.

It's the work of moments to complete my journey, only to be denied the alcohol I need to soothe my nerves after such a stressful encounter. But the server refuses to give me the third cup on account of my 'apparent age', thus forcing upon me the indignity of mere cider. Even so, I return to Lord Vine and his wife, finally alone. The pair take their own cups, and we sip our beverages in companionable silence as the gathering continues without us.

...No, that's wrong.

The two besides me were comfortable. They're in their element. I simply do not want to be here. I do not belong, and whatever that Bifronnes woman saw within me only confirms that fact. This isn't my place. This isn't my world.

This isn't my _life._

I turn to Lord Vines, "May I have a moment, sir?" The older man looks over me for a moment before nodding as he takes his wife with him to the dance floor. That's good, I would hate to drag down their evening with my continued presence. I step away from the crowd, seeking fresh air, an escape, anything that is away from the pressures of those who are around me.

…

All things being considered, it is a truly lovely night. I suspect that Lord Vine had had hopes to further ingratiate my presence to Olga-Marie, but I was not interested. She is a good girl, if somewhat spoiled and bratty for it. I would hardly be a good influence on her, and besides, I am an aberrant element.

I am simply...better off alone.

"A lovely night, is it not?" That deep voice says from besides me, it's baritone resonating in my flesh with a sense of familiarity. My bones rattle, a child's fear racing through them, but I ignore it.

"It is," I agree, "It's easy to forget how beautiful the world can be when you live within a city. The pollution just..." I gesture towards the faintly visible stars with my glass, "Hides it away."

"Very true," A huff, almost amused, "It's always thus, in places where man dwells most densely, that they obscure the sight of their Creator. Perhaps it is man's place to fill the land with the marks of mankind's sin, to take the Lord's work and stain it in their image?"

I drink, staring off into space as I do so, desperately willing my spectacles to pierce the veil of smog and artificial light to see the true beauty of the night, "I think that's a bit sad...No." I look down, taking in the sight of the nearly drained cup of cider in my hand, "Perhaps it's more accurate to call it sobering instead?"

"Hmph, is someone your age truly in a position to know the meaning of that word?"

Ah, right. This body is that of a child, isn't it, "I suppose you're right." I reply with a rueful chuckle, draining the cider at last, "I suppose I'm not giving those adults who rely on their spirits enough credit, to compare them to the musings of a child." One hand falls to my side, holding the now empty cup. My other extends outward towards the sound of that familiar voice, "Vineas Vine."

"Kotomine Kirei."

I freeze at the familiar sight, the brown hair, not quite grown out. The familiar frock not yet draped over his shoulders. The cross hanging upon his chest. What stands before me is the man only a few years out of the Fourth Grail War. His heart of cursed mud, already having acknowledged the path he was walking down, and discarding all hesitation.

The man who embraces finding happiness in others suffering. I suppose that is why he sought me out, but even then his presence was odd.

"Does my appearance trouble you, young one?" He asks, voice not unkind.

It doesn't, not in the way he seems to think, "I was just surprised is all." My hand remains extended outwards in invitation, "I didn't expect someone from the Church to be at a gathering of magi like this."

He smiles, as if at a private joke, "Nor did I, young Vineas." He reaches out to grasp my hand, his large hand engulfing the child's limb, calloused hand closing tightly, "You are right to be surprised, if anything." I tremble slightly, awaiting the inevitable crushing that never comes, his shake light and absent of power, "You need not fear." He looks back towards the party, "I am here by invitation of Lord Animusphere, though I fear that his reasons for doing so must remain between us."

I nod, "Oh, of course."

"I admit that I do not fit in quite comfortably with magi," His lips flit into a small grin, "I am something of a retired adversary of theirs, so it's only natural." Massive shoulders shrug, as if in resignation.

My own lips curl wryly, "Then I'm glad the two of us can distract one another, Father."

"The Lord works in mysterious ways, my son."

I pause, "Yeah...I suppose He does."

My mind wanders for a moment. Kotomine Kirei is...a monster, true. He delights in the suffering of others, and even now likely had a number of orphans locked in the basement of his church, slowly wasting away. The man before me is an irredeemable being. But I can say this much with confidence: More than any other character in this…_setting_ I took time to understand his way of thinking. The way of life that he lived. Because as much as any of Nasu's other characters, Kotomine Kirei had been alive in a way very few others had been. He is a cruel man, and he would cheat and manipulate, commit any atrocity for the sake of his own unshaking convictions. A single path that was only open to him.

But part of that path was the role of being a shepherd to his flock.

And besides, he was someone whom I could remain sure would not be a part of my life after tonight.

"Tell me, Father Kotomine," There was nothing else but to do it, "Even if I'm not a part of your congregation, would you still be able to help me with something?"

Brown eyes peer into my own as his arms fold behind his back, "We are all lambs of the Lord's flock, young Vineas." He smiles as he turned towards me fully, "Speak, and I will offer my humble counsel as best as I am able."

I nod my head in gratitude. I was sure he would accept, confessionals meant dirty laundry, and a sadist like Kotomine would hardly pass up a chance for something he could use later, even if the odds of payoff were small. But how to begin? How to voice this wordless, vague _wrongness_ within me that has no name, but seems to color my every action in this…_setting?_

It is with memories of the man he was that I begin, "How do you live, when your very existence is a crime?"

Kirei paused, as if startled, "Hoooh?" His reaction is like a drawn out breath, "What makes you ask such a question, Vineas Vine? Have you committed a sin which can not be forgiven, at such a young age? Or do you perhaps feel that you yourself are somehow…" He stops, as if searching for the right word to use, "_Wrong?_"

I shake my head, "I'm not sure. It may be both, or neither." I look away, "But as I live from day to day, I feel this _distance_ from the world around me. A deep, undeniable instinct that I _don't really belong here._" The night sky remains as opaque as ever, "When I try to think of those around me, I understand that I _do not belong._ As if it were some...undeniable _fact._"

"An interesting mindset, young Vineas." Kirei says from behind me, "Is this the result of your family? Do they isolate you? Perhaps the distance stops you from forming the emotional bonds which you so clearly desire?"

"Not at all," I continue, "If anything, Lord Vine has been the ideal of a magi father. That he cares for me is obvious, and he very clearly sees me as his son." I grimace, "I suppose...My great problem is that I feel as if I can not be the child he deserves." My hand reaches out to the sky, "Like I robbed him of that chance at happiness."

A moment passes in complete silence, "...I see." Another beat goes by, "Why can't you?"

"He praises me as some kind of a genius," I chuckle ruefully, "Tells me all the time about my potential to take the family magecraft to unseen heights, and to drive the knife in deeper he seems to believe every word." My hands clench, turning white at the knuckles, "But I just can't _see_ it! Everything I do, I work so hard at! I don't feel any passion for it! There's nothing there to push me! All I do is want to work as hard as I can to make up for the son he can never have!"

"A most unfortunate circumstance indeed," Kirei replies, his taller form stepping in at my side, "I can see why the Lord guided me here to you this night," I look up at him as he wears a wan smile. At least he's getting his show in, "Is it fulfilling?"

"No," I utter bitterly, "It all feels...So _meaningless_. So _empty_. There's no satisfaction in it, no true sense of triumph. I wish to be better for the sake of improvement." My teeth begin to grind together, "Not for the sake of Lord Vine's legacy, but for the sake of...something smaller and _wrong._"

"And what might that be, child?"

"To...to _fight_." I reply breathlessly, "But to use the gifts Lord Vine has provided me in that way, to pursue a path of carnage and bloodshed," I picture it in my mind, standing on the field of battle as my hands grip a true sword, imbued with undulating waves of pure wind as I face down my nameless enemy. "It's an utter betrayal of his beliefs!" I take in a deep breath, dispelling the fantasy from my mind, "It's not right to do that! I've already deprived him of the heir he deserves, to want to do that as well is _evil!_"

"To do what you wish is...evil, huh?" The man before me muses, "And so what if the only route that lies at the end of your beliefs is one where death awaits? Do you end your own life, to save those around you?" His voice sounds distant, almost as if muttering to himself.

"No." I reply emphatically, "I don't have such a right. Not to invalidate Lord Vine's efforts. Not to leave the stage before I repay the debt I owe to them."

"An interesting sentiment, young Vineas." Kirei chuckles, "So you would spend your life in this sense of suspended anguish? Suffering nobly for the sake of paying the debt for your crime of being born?"

"When the alternative is evil?" I say easily, "Of course."

I glance back towards the man besides me, his smile still affixed to his expression as he too stares into the night sky, "Do you believe that the Lord would put you on this earth if you were only capable of evil, Vineas Vine? That he would cause you to suffer for doing no crime?"

He did not know of the crime I had committed by stealing this life, this body. How could he? But that would mean believing that I had been made a murderer by God's own hand, snuffing out the person who was originally destined to be Vineas Vine.

"Does the name J.L. Mackie mean anything to you?" He continues, "I understand it may be a bit much to expect from someone of your background, but-"

"The Problem of Evil?" I reply, grateful for the seeming change of subject, "The idea where, assuming three conditions of the Lord being All-Knowing, All-Seeing, and Morally Perfect apply, the existence of evil in this world would serve as direct evidence against the existence of such a being?"

"The very same," The priest's deep voice answers, his voice carrying a tinge of amusement.

I snort, "Would you believe I already assumed the answer long before I ever heard of Alvin Plantinga?"

Kirei chuckles, "A pleasant surprise," He straightens his shoulders, a single arm raising with its index finger pointed upward, "'The Free Will Defense'," he recites as if from memory, "Given that the fourth condition - that of the existence of evil - is not an inherent contradiction of the other three conditions - merely an inferred one - then we can not assume that the conclusion is correct. Rather, it is a premise wholly assumed by the individual, not an explicit contradiction support by logic. Given the existence of the four conditions, we can not expect Him, even given the Lord's own Omnipotence, to explicitly exercise it by doing things in contradiction to His nature. He does not make square circles, for example. Nor, for that matter, could He make a being with free will incapable of choosing to be evil." He glances towards me, "As such, it is the morality of the freedom of choice being superior to the tyranny of predestination that justifies the existence of evil. We humans have the right to be either good or evil, and thus are not forced to any by the Lord."

"That...sounds correct," I glance down at my hands when Kirei lowers his own, "Why bring that up?"

"To make a point," The priest before me responds immediately, staring at his hands, "Though our natures may be inclined towards sin, towards _evil_, it is still ultimately our own will to choose whether our actions are themselves evil in turn." He snorts, as if at a private joke.

"So I should just indulge myself, then?" I reply bitterly, "Toss aside Lord Vine's teachings in bloodshed and combat? Risk throwing away the legacy he safeguarded with his entire life? The same legacy he hoped I would see through to completion in my lifetime?!"

"_Indeed._" Brown eyes pierce my vision with the unwavering will of the true believer brushing aside my own ill-formed objections, "You may not understand it now, Vineas Vine, but the answer to that dilemma is why the Lord surely put the likes of us on this earth."

I shake my head in naked disbelief.

"Shall we, drenched in evil from our very birth, embrace that nature and indulge in pointless depravity? Or shall we instead find another way, and discover a road only we can travel? One that will lead us towards the answers to our anguish, and with it, find true happiness?"

"I don't see how-"

"Nor do I," Kirei answered, his voice passionate, "But the answer surely exists in this world, filled with His miracles."

I'm disquieted in the face of Kotomine's conviction, his certainty washing over the place in my soul where I have uncertainty instead of confidence, "I...I suppose so."

The mania fades away from the man before me, smoothing back into the expression of placid kindness that he had worn at the start of the conversation, "So long as you do not give up hope, young Vineas, you too might yet discover the joy that exists in this world for you."

"That is likely true," I reply, nodding, "I'm glad that I had this opportunity to speak with you, Father Kotomine."

"One can easily see the Lord's hand at work." He holds out a hand, and I take it, "It has been a pleasure, Vineas Vine. If by chance you should ever travel to the Far East, know that you will be welcome in Fuyuki."

"I will be sure to remember that, Father Kotomine." Much like I remember what happened to Bazette Fraga McRemitz when you extended that same offer to her, you damn psycho. I don't know _what_ I was thinking, even _hoping_ you might be able to help me with this problem!

"The Lord works in mysterious ways, young man." Kirei's tall figure turns away as I return to the safety of the crowd, his slight smile remaining, "Until we meet again."

Yeah, no. I doubt _that_ will ever happen.

…

I do not want to admit it, as I return to the comfort of witnesses, but amid Kirei's weirdness he had been right about one thing: God would not have dumped me into this world just to inadvertently kill some innocent who had done no wrong by taking their place.

I wasn't living someone else's life.

I was simply..._living my own_.

It was a sobering thought, and the first of many weights off my shoulders. Damn him. Now I still had the rest of his insane advice to go through. As if some convenient path to indulge in my own fantasies of combat exist alongside the academic research that was needed to live up to Lord Vine's hope in me.

But before all that, first thing's first.

"Ah, son, we were just looking for you!" Lord Vine greets me as I approach the dance floor, he and his wife having gotten more champagne while I had been dealing with a fake priest, "Did you enjoy your break?"

"I did…" My voice catches, "F-_Father._" Yes. For though my father in my past life was the one who had raised me and made the person who I was today...Volesus-Gherieli Vine was not some stranger to Vineas Vine. He was his father. I am Vineas Vine. Thus, the relationship was clear. In this life, I would find it in myself to extend filial piety to this new parent, who puts such complete and sincere hope in me. Not just live this life carrying out the repayment of a debt. He deserves better than that, and there was no reason to torture myself over an issue which had never been one in the first place.

He blinks, and I think the sincerity of my meaning reached him, as his eyes began to moisten, "I-I'm glad to hear it, son." He reaches out to me, and I place…_my_ smaller hand in his own, "Come now, we still have to greet our hosts."

"Of course." I nod, it would be nice to speak to Olga-Marie again, and get my mind off that encounter with Kirei.

Familiar white hair, standing besides a tall, green top hat enters my vision as the three of us venture further into the hall. Marris-Billi and Lev then, and Lord Vine guides us through the crowd with the ease of long practice.

"Ah!" A vaguely familiar voice calls out, one that I remember as belonging to Lord Animusphere, "Lord Vine! Come join us!"

It only takes a moment for us to breach the circle of individuals chatting up the three centerpieces of the event, and the six of us exchange greetings before Lord Animusphere introduces my…_family_ to those who had already been accompanying him.

After I give my greetings I turn towards the young girl before me, her unruly hair straightened out for this evening, at the very least, "I see you've been busy, Olga." My lips widen into a sincere smile, "Congratulations on your achievement."

The girl tilts her chin up with a proud sniff, "I had _told_ you not to fall behind, Vineas."

"Now, now." A gloved hand came to rest upon the young girl's shoulder, "Is that any way to speak to that friend you told me so often about?"

"L-Lev!" The girl squeaks in a way that reminds me that she's as young as this body is, and I look up to meet the red eyes of the man that would betray everyone and everything this young girl had built, for the sake of a monster infesting the skin of a man nearly three thousand years dead, "That's none of his business!"

You would never be able to tell from the indulgent smile he gave her, "Olga, you've been busy helping us greet the guests since the celebration started. Why don't you take a break and relax with young Vine here, hmm?"

The girl looks away, a stern frown looking nothing more than a pout, "I don't need a break, this is about me making my big debut."

"Of course," Lev Lainur replies. He looked upward and then snapped his fingers, as if struck by a revelation, "Ah! I just remembered!" Those red eyes glance at me once again, "Young Vineas, your parents and I, along with Lord Animusphere must have a _private_ meeting with one another!"

"W-we do?" Lord Animusphere replies, voice surprised.

"_Capital,_ I've actually been waiting for this opportunity since the last time you visited my home, Lord Animusphere. I'm sure you'll find what I have to say _very_ enlightening."

"And there you have it," Lev replies, winking at me from beneath the brim of his hat, "Olga, would you do your father and I the favor of entertaining young master Vine while we keep his parents busy?"

"W-well, if I have no other choice than to play babysitter! Hmph!"

I roll my eyes at the display, "It would be my honor to accompany you, Lady Animusphere." I hold one hand out in invitation.

Olga Marie eyes it warily, "I suppose this is acceptable." She declares after a long moment, taking my hand in her own. The adults wander off on their own, just leaving the two of us behind.

"You ought to be grateful to have me babysitting you, Vineas." The silver-haired girl continues after we were left alone.

I raise an eyebrow at the alleged reversal of past fortune, "But I'm older than you." It is a simple enough observation. As true now as it was then.

"In this world age doesn't matter, it's all about _accomplishments!_" She puffs her chest out proudly, "I have more than you, thus _I_ am babysitting _you_."

A theatrical sigh is my answer, "Well, not all of us have a high profile researcher like Lev Lainur to do the heavy lifting for their project."

The resulting huffing sound is immensely satisfying, "Well if _you_ are so great, Vineas, then what _amazing_ project are _you_ working on?"

I turn a wry smile towards her, "Mastering the spells within the two-thousand year old Vine Family Crest, for starters."

Olga-Marie's golden eyes narrow, "So what? That's just rote learning! The _real_ accomplishments are always in innovation!"

I nod amicably as we walk side by side through the hall, "That may be so, but I'm working _entirely_ on. My. _Own._"

She pauses, abruptly turning to face me in full, "That makes no sense." She looks over me searchingly, "Why wouldn't your father show you how to better integrate with your family's Crest?"

I shrug, "It's tied to how we approach magecraft. Each of our perspectives are our own, and need to be individually cultivated without being unduly influenced by one another." Fingers idly tap my glasses, "No two Vine see the world the same, and eventually one shall see through it to the Spiral of the Origin." My teeth flash in a smile, "Or so they say."

"Who says?"

"My ancestors, I suppose."

Olga-Marie nods her head, "Ooooh, that makes sense." She moves around me, and glances over my body inquisitively, "So where _is_ your Crest?" I raise an eyebrow, before tapping my shoulder. To my surprise the girl's eyes widen in alarm, both her hands raising to cover her mouth in silent terror as she glances around for potential eavesdroppers.

I take a step forward, and Olga-Marie looks away, apologetic, "Sorry Vineas, I didn't mean to-" I flick her forehead, "Ow!"

Her eyes water even as she glares at me, and I can't help but chuckle at the sight of her rubbing her temple with both palms, "You sure are clumsy, aren't you?"

"I don't want to hear that from the _child_ wearing _glasses!_" She huffs, folding her arms over her chest and looking away.

"Well, with this we're even now, right?" I ask slyly, "You almost blab my secret in front of all these witnesses, and then I punish you for it with a forehead flick. That's fair, isn't it?"

"I-I guess, " Olga-Marie mutters, her arms falling back to her sides, as she leads the way to corner of the hall, further away from the prying eyes and ears of the other guests. I quickly glance over the spot, guaranteeing the lack of other Bounded Fields as she throws up a barrier meant to keep our conversation private.

"So, what do you plan to do once you finish?" Olga-Marie asks, peering at my back curiously, "Even mastering such an old crest is impressive in its own right." She glances back up, meeting my gaze, "You better not be planning to rest on your laurels after that!"

I sniff imperiously, "As if I would."

The silver haired prodigy placed her hands on her hips, "Then what _do_ you plan to do?"

A sigh rattles through my chest, and I run a hand through my hair, "I'm not really sure." Golden eyes blink, "I want to advance the family's spellcraft with an original spell, but the only thing that really interests me is combat magecraft, rather than the more academic focus my Father is steering me towards."

"Why is that a problem?" She asks and I suddenly pause.

Wait.

Wait a moment here.

_Why am I telling these things to a prepubescent child I only met once before almost four years ago?!_

"Well?" Olga-Marie Animusphere, Heir to the Astronomy Department of the Clock Tower, one of the future Twelve Lords, and destined to be doomed Director of Chadea asks me, her attitude one of having a tired argument with an old friend. It was with a slowly dawning sense of horror that I realize that to this young girls eyes _that that is exactly what I am._

"Don't I get a say in this?" I ask her incredulously.

"No." All avenues for escape are cut off, "Now." Her arms fold across her chest as she begins tapping her foot impatiently, "_Out with it._"

I groan, wondering how things had come to this, but clearly my right to get out of this had been vetoed by the little tyrant in front of me, "I had been hoping to follow in his footsteps to live up to his expectations."

Olga-Marie simply tilts her head, "But didn't you say the entire point of your training was to develop your own unique perspective and way to use your family's magecraft?"

My head nods in confirmation "I did."

"Then wouldn't you copying Lord Vine fly in the face that objective?" She asks, now genuinely curious.

"Well when you phrase it like _that_, yes." I reply with annoyed grit.

"Then what's the problem?" The silver haired child before me continues, as if she were stating the obvious.

"What should I do then, pick fights with half the Clock Tower?" My words tumble out, frustrated.

"If you must." Amber orbs roll in exasperation, and I can't quite stop my shocked expression.

My lips twist into a snarl, "I _refuse_ to just be some kind of mad dog, Olga-Marie."

"Then be a domesticated one." The girl stands before me, imperious, "Once you've mastered your family Crest, become my bodyguard, Vineas Vine. I plan to live an interesting life, and you're more than welcome to accompany me for the ride."

I simply stare at her, "Are you serious?"

Olga-Marie nods, "Deadly so. Things might be more dangerous if we do them alone, but at least together we can cover each others backs, after all. It's basic survival tactics, even an idiot can understand that."

"I suppose so." My eyes look over Olga-Marie, trying to see if she has some kind of an angle, "Why me?"

A red flush reaches her cheeks, "T-that's because we're friends, obviously!" Amber eyes look away, glancing back in nervousness, "W-we _are_ friends, aren't we?"

I sigh, rolling my eyes in exasperation. Looks like there's no going back now, "Yes, Olga. I suppose that we are."

For the second time, I see her best smile, "Good."

**...**

It seems obvious, in hindsight, that the very trap I had now find myself in was likely what Kotomine Kirei had had in mind when he gave me that twisted advice of his.

"Find a way of life in which your desire is 'good' rather than 'evil'."

Even now I still found it odd how straightforward it had been.

A method by which the impulse to fight, to indulge, to live, was not in opposition with the morality of 'Vineas Vine'. In the end it was almost horrifyingly simple, really. I am almost shocked to see how simple it has been. Indeed, Lord Vine has seen the possibilities himself, the synergy behind ones who 'recreate the past to inform the future' joining hands with those who 'reach the past to guide the future' was obvious. After that party, the Vine and Animusphere became tightly bound, a move which brought myself and Olga-Marie into one another's orbit far more often than we had been.

Well, that isn't too bad. True to my word, I become her friend in truth. Although I doubt that, after she had press-ganged me, I would have had much choice in the matter, even were I to object. She was the kind of girl that was hard to say no to, for better or for worse, and even if I sometimes feel like a creep for the age differential, at least she was a prodigy in truth, and nobility besides. It never felt like I was speaking to a child.

In the end, I suppose what 'Vineas Vine' wishes for, beyond anything, else was a peer. In a world of abnormalities, it was only natural that I would be drawn to one. Time passed, our fathers collaborate, and thus I even get the opportunity to play the Hospitium card back on Olga-Marie in some very satisfying, if childish, acts of tit-for-tat. I pursue my training further, after all, what reason was there for me to hesitate? I already knew that the stage which I desire lay in 2015. My friend would prepare it adequately to befit the performance I was now practicing for. No, I suppose that's inaccurate.

I had promised that girl that I would have her back.

Some friend I would be if I let her die, alone and unmourned. There was no need for some grand ambition. No need to make a great statement. No need to save mankind. My friend would be right there in front of me, I just need to become strong enough to save one person, then the chips would fall where they may. Just take things one step at a time.

And so it was in such a manner that time passed in this world around me, until the curtain rose on the year 2004.

…

**Author's Note: Some of you may ask 'Why is Kirei in London right now after the Fourth War'? And this is actually something that is, once again, the result of incomplete information on Vineas' part. I'm sure some of you will recognize the more obvious elements at play in that meeting, but I wonder how many of you will realize on the resulting subtext that comes from that conclusion?**

**At the time of originally writing this chapter and plotting out the rest of the arc, the Case Files anime had yet to be even announced, let alone have its relevant story arc translated into English (It still isnt, actually at the time of this writing) and so all I had to work on were a few snippets of summarized plot points.**

**As a result, dont expect the next arc to be a 1:1 faithful adaptation going forward. I hope that you'll be able to enjoy it regardless.**

**And please, feel free to leave a review as well!**


	3. Third Chapter

Discrimination is a terrible thing.

To think that we live in a world where a man is judged, not on his accomplishments or personality, his failures or shortcomings, but on inevitable, intrinsic properties which they have no control. The color of his skin, the blood in his veins, and even the nature of one's own Magic Circuits are cause for unwarranted bigotry in the modern era. Even now, in the year of our Lord two thousand and four, we are still in the grips of such crimes against our fellow human beings.

9/11 was only three years ago, you know? I thought we are past such things. Something something, current year.

Ah, hmm, letting old habits crawl out of the woodwork, as it were. And based on the icy glare being delivered to me, my internalized sass is not going without notice. A shame, really. Though I find dark irony in her expression of disgust, the perception of gazing upon something disgusting makes her own appearance more disgusting in turn, which sadly ruins her otherwise attractive features.

"What appears to be the problem, Dame Fellows?" I ask with all the precocious innocence a thirteen year old can muster. Alas, puberty had begun, and thus sealed away the vaunted "Adorable" card in which I had once unknowingly put so much stock. Much like any other child actor at my current biological age, it would seem that Trisha Fellows, my friend's primary tutor, is determining that I am reaching my expiration date.

Blue eyes, hard as agates, narrow. A sniff of imperious disdain accompanies the expression, causing her carefully coiffed blonde hair to bob from side to side, "I am looking at it, _Vine_." My hand taps my chin thoughtfully, and I take note of the change in address. What, specifically, had changed in the time since I had last been here? Though I joke about expiration dates, surely the Christmas Cake before me isn't going to judge me based on that, is she? We are comrades, after all, "Whatever you are thinking," Trisha Fellows begins, the lenses of her glasses flaring with actinic light, "You will cease this instant, before I am forced to defend myself."

I blink, "And what, pray tell, would you be defending yourself from?"

Her nose crinkles further, as if her nostrils were sympathetic to her ears, "_Emotional_ damage. Whatever _inappropriate_ thoughts one such as _you_ would harbor towards me would no doubt _linger_ like a _foul curse_, infecting and _ruining_ my prospects in the future, thus causing undue stress in a _single encounter_."

"But, why?" I pause, considering, "Surely I've done nothing to you since I last visited." It had been a few years ago, true, but in that time I had been engrossed in my studies, finally nearing mastery of the most basic elements of the Vine Clan Crest. And so, my eyes roam over her searchingly, seeking the answers to my question in her body language. She shudders.

"The error was on _my end_ on the previous occasion," The blonde answers, "I had not _properly vetted_ you for the sake of Lady Animusphere, and as a _result_ she was exposed to a _corruptive influence_." Spectacle frames shift, and once again I am confronted with lens flare that would otherwise be the hallmark of poor quality lenses, "So it falls to me to rectify that error."

There is a beat of silence as I stare at the woman incredulously, "But...You _knew_ who I was the last time I was here to meet with Olga-"

"Lady Animusphere, to you."

I continue undeterred, "So what do you mean by 'improperly vetted'?"

There is another pause, as the Dame seems to consider her answer carefully, "At the time, I was only aware that you were a noble scion whose father was closely allied with Lord Animusphere." Lips purse, "Shortly afterwards I was informed by _fitting_ parties to the pertinent information regarding your…" Eyes narrow into a disdainful glare, "_House._"

My mouth twists into a frown, then. So it's like that, then. I see, I see. I see most profoundly. The Vine clan's reputation would indeed matter to someone who wants to network into higher positions. No woman wants to be governess forever, I suppose. Even for one of the future Twelve Lords. I see, I see. Defending the reputation of her employers, an adherence to, and rigorous loyalty to, the orthodoxy of the Clock Tower's political movements- all of those things are attractive things to put on ones resume when shopping around on PlentyofMages, the infamous Dating Website.

Poor thing, she doesn't even realize who constitutes the other half of that partnership with the Animusphere.

But still, I had come here to discuss my future plans with my friend, and no mere tutor was going to stand in my way, especially after taking the trouble of getting a Charlie Horse from Touko Travel, "You raise an excellent point," I say at last, my hand fishing around in my pocket, "Allow me to present my counterargument." My fingers move deftly, the feeling of a soft plastic flip phone giving better prehensile feedback than any smartphone would.

"_Counterargument?_" Trisha Fellows responds, immaculate eyebrow raising, "There is _nothing_ to say, as you shall _not_ enter here."

"You hear that, Olga?" I say with a smug grin, "It appears that I am not _allowed_ to enter your home, in spite of your invitation." Lips opposite me curve into a frown as I withdraw the flip phone, speaker facing my opponent.

"Put Trisha on the line, Vinea." The voice of Olga-Marie Animusphere slightly crackles from the signal being muddied by the property's wards and ambient magical energies. Amusingly, this makes one of the most advanced pieces of current modern technology that any average Magus will encounter sound like an ancient radio. "I need to have a word with her about what privileges she does not possess as a mere employee of the Animusphere estate."

Dame Fellows' expression sinks even further into a blatant scowl, as she daintily reaches for the phone. She hesitantly raises the speaker to her ear as one would a loaded gun, and I watch her skin pale with no small amount of relish at the sound of Olga-Marie's screeching, audible even from this short distance away.

It is with a defeated look blunting those piercing eyes that I am finally allowed on to the property.

**…**

"I apologize for Trisha," Silver hair, ever unkempt, waves idly to the tune of finely clinking china, "She seems to take it upon herself to serve as a gatekeeper for my social interactions." She sniffs aristocratically, "As if I were not an _excellent_ judge of character."

It is with the ease of long practice that my expression remains straight, while I gently sip at my tea. While wishing desperately for coffee. I set my cup down and answer, "You shouldn't be too hard on Dame Fellows," My voice is at ease, a simple act to alleviate Olga-Marie before she could do something to pre-empt my own inevitable vengeance, "She simply wishes to look out for your best interests, and, well, it's not as if my family's reputation is not well earned." My shoulders rise in a helpless shrug.

"Hmph," Amber eyes shut, turning away from me in a huff, "I swear, Vinea, you don't need to make excuses for her rudeness." Her nose lifts up disdainfully, "Besides, know you you're probably just covering for her due to that rotten obsession of yours with older women."

I blink. Once. Twice. How did she know?! "I have no such thing, Olga." I cough surreptitiously, "It's simply polite to treat ones elders with proper respect."

A golden iris snaps open and regards me with wholly unwarranted suspicion, "Don't think that I don't notice that wandering eye of yours. What's respectful about that leering gaze, hmm?"

_What's wrong with having a healthy attraction to those whom I relate to, Olga?!_ I do not say, "I am not leering," I intone seriously, "I am simply...keeping my eyes level. Proper posture and all that good rot." My body was only thirteen years old, not quite hitting it's growth spurt. It was only natural that my eyes would not match up to those who were at least a decade my senior, after all.

My friend hums thoughtfully, "Slouching forward is proper posture for boys your age?" A dainty finger rests on her chin, "What a fascinating change modern health is, but my father had always said something about being able to tell the worth of a man from the set of his shoulders." Her lips curve into a smug smile, "Is he wrong?"

My eyes narrow, and with an effort of will I change the subject, "Speaking of Lord Animusphere, where is he?"

"Father?" Olga blinks in surprise, "He's off on business to the Far East." A faint memory tickles at the base of my skull, a familiar Fake Priest.

"Fuyuki City?" I ask, it seems to be the right time for the Fifth Holy Grail War, isn't it?

Her head tilts, then previous recognition dawns on her features, "Oh! You said you spoke to that Priest, Kotomine, at the party a few years ago, did you not?"

"Yes, he had explained that he was there by invitation of your father, and he did tell me where his congregation was set."

"He was an odd sort," My friend hums thoughtfully, "Strange, he isn't usually the expressive type." She looks back at me, expression taking on a triumphant sheen, "I suppose you made an impression on him." A smug smile blooms upon her features, "As expected of my Vinea!"

I groan, "Since when am I _yours?_"

"The moment you agreed to be my guard dog, of course!" She holds her hand out, palm up, "Now! _Shake!_" The sound of brief rapping on the door to the room covers my groan and stops me from doing something I'd probably regret, "Who is it?" Olga shouts.

"It's Fellows, My Lady." That stern voice answers, "I'd like to have a word with you." The air before the portal shimmers, and the sound of heavy iron clicks with a gesture from Olga. Trisha Fellows enters, glasses flashing as she looks upon me in disdain, "In private, if at all possible."

"Anything you wish to say to me can be said in front of Vineas," Olga's expression takes on a stern look, while Dame Fellows' own look is that of the long-suffering governess, which she undoubtedly is. My heart goes out to her. If I could affix her with a muzzle, I wouldn't mind comforting her in private. Hehe...

After a tense moment, Trisha sighs, "Very well." She glances towards me, and I pointedly return to my cup of bitter, room temperature water with leaves in it, "I've received…" There is a pause, but I ignore it, resisting the temptation to investigate the cause, "News of a rare opportunity, My Lady."

Olga's voice firms, "What opportunity?"

"Are you familiar with the Rail Zeppelin, Lady Animusphere?" Olga pauses, attempting to recall, but there is no need.

I metaphorically step in, "The Rail Zeppelin is a line that runs through Eastern Europe and the Russian territories to terminate at the Liaodong Peninsula, established over one hundred and fifty years ago by one of the more powerful Superior Dead Apostles, one Rita Rozay-en."

"And why does that matter?" The heir of House Animusphere asks, "What does the pet project of a vampire have to do with us?"

"My Lady," Fellows replies, "The Rail Zeppelin goes by another name: The Mystic Eyes Collection Train." My head tilts, some half forgotten memory poking about. I probably recognized that specific title for some reason, but it had been at least a decade since I had a chance to investigate the more far flung Type-Moon properties. That, and I had spent most of the years since realizing the circumstances of my rebirth and committing knowledge of the Grail Wars to my memory, it appears that more niche knowledge had fallen by the wayside. Even my knowledge of the Rail Zeppelin was incidental, the result of research into the Twenty-Seven Ancestors and their circumstances in this world.

"What rank?" I ask quietly, turning back towards the Governess.

There is a brief pause as the blonde glares at me for my temerity, before locking gazes with her Mistress, "...Rainbow."

Olga-Marie's eyes widen in shock and I let out a low whistle.

Classified by the ranks of the Noble Color System, ranked from Gold, Jewel, and Rainbow in terms of noteworthy potency, the majority of Mystic Eyes are capable of enacting minor phenomena through channeling magical energy through circuits developed within one's eyes. "The absolute highest, far superior to _these_." I added quietly, tapping the frames of my glasses.

"Aren't those made from Pure Eyes?" My friend replies skeptically, "Hardly the same thing." Which was true. The difference between one and the other lies in the fact that Mystic Eyes enacted phenomena upon the world, whereas Pure Eyes allowed a form of superior, supernatural perception. Mystics Eyes of Binding would inflict paralysis upon a target, whereas the Pure Eyes these spectacles were made from could perceive the various Textures which permeated our world. There were also those who possess Eyes which had functions of both, and by far those were the most powerful. Death Perception is King among them.

"The rank still applies," I respond with the casual air that only the technically correct can manage. I continue, "You heard there would be Rainbow level Mystic Eyes present on the train?"

"Yes," Fellows reluctantly nods to me in confirmation, "There will be one such eye available for auction." Which was the major selling point of the whole affair, really. It was all one big honeypot, but any worthwhile trap needs to be of such a nature to attract something more than the craven, the mad, and the desperate. Rumors of Rozay-en painted the picture of someone who fancied themselves an aristocrat, as odd as they were. I had long since come to learn that one with such a self image would have too much pride to tie their self perception to the lowest rung of society, no matter what form.

"You think we can take it?" Olga-Marie's amber eyes seem to sparkle in excitement, and her hands clutch themselves into fists as she leans forward. The blonde governess nods in confirmation. Before the two can get caught up in one another's excitement, I raise a hand.

"This is a trap." I add in, determined to deflate the atmosphere of ambition as toxic as any poison, "If there is such a valuable treasure available for auction, there's no way that a Superior Dead Apostle would make it publicly available and then _spread word of it_ unless they wanted to draw in someone or some_ones_ of a very particular nature." I raise an eyebrow, glancing knowingly at the silver haired Noble besides me, "Olga would make a fine target for ransom, or perhaps a thrall for the bloodsucking leech-owner of the train. I recommend against going."

Blue eyes take on a curious yellow sheen, as the blonde woman levels an intense glare at me.

"There's no need to worry, Vineas," Olga says confidently, standing up to her full height as she places her hands upon her hips, "Trisha's source is the most secure information there is!" She nods, unwittingly demonstrating the same judge of character that endears me to her, "The people organizing the auction have no idea the information got out, I promise you!" I narrow my eyes at the eleven year old girl before me, before sighing in exasperation.

"My Lady, ignore the Vine." Fellows stern voice cracks through the air like a whip, "He likely intends to dissuade you from going so he can secure the treasure himself." Her azure eyes, hard as agates, lock with my own, "The Vine are a clan of traitors to their very core, and someone like him _can not be trusted._ It is in their blood, their very nature!"

Olga puffs her chest out, with cheeks inflating, and a finely honed instinct flares in the back of my mind as my friend prepares to move to my defense, probably out of implicitly wounded pride in her choice of playmates. I decide to take control of the conversation for the first time today.

I snort. Loudly.

I reach into my pocket, before withdrawing my hand and slap down a small notepad on to the table, wrapped in the softest leather. With casual ease I open it, thumbing to a specific page as I lock eyes with the older woman before me. Christmas Cake indeed, it appeared that her grey matter had gone stale as well!

"I find it ironic that you speak my name while forgetting whom you're speaking to, Dame Fellows." I chuckle, fitting as much derision into the sound as possible, "I am indeed Vineas _Vine_." I find the appropriate, most recent entry in the small pocketbook, "As wealthy as the Animusphere may be, do you truly believe that Olga's pocket money can match up to my own resources, let alone that of my clan at large?"

I turn the bankbook around, and gesture for the older woman to take a look.

It is with a petty satisfaction that I watch the color drain from her face. Olga sidles on over to take a look herself, humming appreciatively at the figure on display, "That's quite the number of zeroes, Vineas."

My lips twitch smugly, and I pocket the book once more, "New businesses have been good to us." I glance back towards the governess, her lips opening and closing as if speaking silently to herself, "As you can see Dame Fellows," She twitches, looking back at me in a whole new light, "I don't need to keep Olga away from the train to be able to outbid her. I just want to make sure that she stays safe."

Said girl nods, thrusting her chest out proudly at the defense of her _guard dog,_ "Well, we're both going, this opportunity is too rare to pass us by. Besides, Father will be in Japan, and this would make a fine celebratory gift, I think."

My hands steeple together on the table. A momentary assessment tells me that she will not be swayed from going. "Then I certainly can't leave you to your own devices, and let you mess things up." I shrug helplessly, "So I may as well come along and make sure that you don't get outbid, at the very least."

"Hmph!" My friend smirks, triumphant, "As if you ever had any choice in the first place!"

**...**

It seems strange to say, but the Vine are not particularly..._popular._

Oh yes, don't get me wrong, the family has an outsized amount of influence. They are fabulously rich by the standards of the Magical World, and most importantly, my, ah, _father_ was introduced to the Internet by Lord Billy-Mari Animusphere during that party, when they had been going over the technological innovations developed by mankind in recent years.

Being the profit-minded individual he was, he immediately thought of a way to exploit his immense trade connections for even more profit. I recalled the existence of a certain mundane online service, and pointed out to him that it had existed quite comfortably since three years after I had been born. In a move that almost made me feel like I belonged in this family more than any moment prior in my less than a decade of life in this world, he immediately seized on my suggestion.

With feverish excitement, "Dark Amazon" was born, intent on capitalizing on the brand recognition of the existing service, which in hindsight is an irony Mister Jeff Bezos can appreciate. Well, the man had appeared on the cover of Time that year after all. So it can be said that while I was unsurprised by this development, the fact that it was up and running to near-peak efficiency within the year was still quite the feat, if one managed by the original. Still, I suppose it seems less impressive when you realize the full context of our situation.

In any case, time passed by, as it is wont to do, my thaumaturgical training advanced, and Lord Vine became caught up in the rush of laying down a new venture. Explaining _why_ this worked isn't all that necessary, but to put things shortly: The Vine family, through our role as the primary intermediary by which a number of craftsmen and suppliers of reagents negotiate and get in contact one another through the Clock Tower, were the only ones capable of putting out a platform through which individuals could order products through any number of vendors online, and thus have those funneled through a centralized distribution network. My father simply relied on Lord Animusphere's contacts to recruit some skilled programmers to put together the framework - liberally 'borrowed' from Amazon's own source code - while he negotiated the distribution channels.

Again, this all seems fairly straightforward for such a complex network of vendors, but the simple truth of the matter is that Lord Vine already _had_ all the connections necessary to put together a centralized third party platform like this. Chances were, had any other figures attempted such a work like this ahead of its time, they might have managed to supplant our family's role through a superior platform, but as things stood that concern was now abated. Understandably, the Vine Clan's stranglehold on such mercantile channels growing stronger did not endear us to the Clock Tower nobility who saw the updating of our methods to the modern era to be yet another black mark upon the families long, checkered history.

For a third time, I note that the unpopularity of the Vine Clan in the Clock Tower is unsurprising. The astute reader may note that it's likely due to the clan's departure from Londinium after the second century Alpha Domini, but there is a funny story to be had there: The Vine were known for a far greater number of actions in Britannia's supernatural world than _merely_ being a long-lived family of merchants who had outlasted the Britannian-Romans.

The first, and most important, requires that I draw attention to where specifically the Vine abandoned Londinium. The aftermath of the Hadrianic Fire, when Hadrian's Wall was approaching the shape that it would have, one which would last for almost two thousand years. At this point, the Romans were eager to have families capable of footing the bill of enriching and uplifting the necessary port towns along the wall, and this opportunity was taken with glee by the Vine head at the time. So well entrenched did the family become, that the clan came to be known as the _Arcani_ or secret-ones for the open secret of their magecraft with the Legions, and as a poor pun on the _Areani_ or "people of the sheep-folds" who were under our aegis. Our relations with them continue to this day in fact.

Our relationship with the Roman Legions...well, as I said.

The Vine are simply not well liked. I never said that this hostility was _unearned_.

After the messiness of the Grand Conspiracy and the severing of our ties with the Roman Legions at large, the Vine were still an incredibly wealthy and powerful merchant class, with roots into many of the tribes of the area. And we've always been rather good at networking, as you may imagine. So, when the Picts, Caledonians, and other groups sought mystical muscle to assist in breaking through the Antonine Wall, the Vine were only too happy to lend their assistance in subverting those empowered fortifications for the right price: Namely the secrets of their own mystic traditions and in one particular windfall in the chaos of Rome's abandonment of the island we managed to 'shelter' an entire tribe of Picts who were facing certain death otherwise.

Discovering that in this world, the Picts were some kind of humanlike monstrosity that shared traits with Ridley Scott's Xenomorphs came as quite the shock! Rather than acting on the self preservation instincts which should come naturally, the Vine clan realized the value of having such a stock of highly adaptable humanlike beings on hand, and set up a control group in the Bounded Field preserves located within the clan's ancestral workshop. They really are marvelous for testing out hostile environments that are theoretically from the Age of Gods though, able to survive and even thrive where normal human beings are incapable of surviving. The baseline mutations that they carried from Britain at that period are well recorded, and the conditions of the texture of the era are thoroughly documented. Seeing how they adapt, and comparing that to records of baseline humanity from that period, courtesy of another trade route that the Vine have cultivated over the centuries, allows us to further advance the pieces that we fit into our _Etemenaki._

Sure, it sounds horrifying to keep what amounts to a tribe of sentient beings basically kept on an animal preserve and locked into cultural stasis for thousands of years, but if we hadn't taken them in there wouldn't be any Picts left! So really, who was the villain here, us? Or that dastardly genocidal King Arthur? Eh? _Eh?_

In any case, the Vine were, by this point, thoroughly divorced from the Clock Tower in its state at the time, as well as thoroughly in control of _the_ major port in Albion for the Scandinavian trade routes in region. And given the Vine Clan's expertise in dealing with layers of reality...well, it was only natural that we would reach out to the Wandering Tomb, the Sea of Estray. The former core of the Mage's Association predated even the Vine Clan's true origins by a significant margin, and as such it was a repository of a great deal of knowledge regarding the human form's evolution and changes through the waning of the Age of Gods, due to their own speciality in experimenting on the human form. Naturally, their records pertaining to both of these subjects were the family's intended objectives in their interactions with the organization over the centuries. Fortunately, in turn, we had access to records on Britannia's own unique progression as the world changed, in addition to records and examples of unique humanoid specimens that the researchers of the Sea of Estray were able to make use of.

In many ways, however, the Wandering Tomb had other, less crucial resources that they were willing to let go of for lesser prices. These being certain samples of Monstrous Beasts from the ocean floor. It was noted early on, that certain Caledonian tribes had an affinity for crafting the bones of certain sea beasts into powerful weapons through the use of their own scripts and ancient runes to empower them. Of course, by the time King Arthur had united Britain and driven back the various tribes into the lands of Ulaid, the times of the Ulster Cycle had long since passed, and the Vine had sought the methods behind the armaments and treasures brought forth at the time.

Incidentally, the Vine had managed to acquire several complete examples of Gaellic Script from numerous tribes, the result of deciphering which had been the flowing not-quite-runes which enshrouded our families workshop so very thoroughly. While I was vaguely aware that this language likely lacked the sheer potency of the ancient runes which lay behind the crafting of Gae Bolg, and almost certainly was not the same as the Fairy Letters which were engraved upon such artifacts as Avalon, Excalibur, or even Gae Buidhe and Gae Dearg. Even so, the Gaellic Script was...artful in its own way. It lacked the straightforward power of the Primal Runes, and thus was not sealed away only to the divine. Nor was it possessing the artfulness of the Fae, and thus was exempt from their disturbing games. With the passing of the Caledonian tribes into myth and history, the mysteries of those letters became ours alone, and within them I sensed the potential for the advancements I wish to pursue.

Ah, right, but speaking of Avalon. As you may have guessed by now, the Vine family were not exactly _in league_ with the forces holed up in Camelot. Too many of our vassals were tied to the Northern lands which opposed the High King of Britain, and a great deal of King Arthur's opposition in those early years made use of the Port of Tyne to arrive from the North Sea. So really, we basically had no choice but to allow the Saxons to make landfall! Arbeia never fell to invaders, and as the lords of the area, it fell to the Vine to protect their vassals from the threat posed by all those foreign invaders. I have it on good authority that the immense wealth we took from them, as they made landfall was both largely incidental, and taken with our deepest regrets.

Of course, those Lords who decided to stick it through in Londinium declined to see things from this point of view. As such, when they spent over a millennium interbreeding with one another to maximize their magical potential, they went the very spiteful and elitist route of shutting the Vine clan out of their eugenics program at every opportunity even after the Vine had rejoined the fold during the 9th Century.

So, in summation, my family is the target of numerous grudges. Not just envy at our own successes, but also wholly legitimate grievances courtesy of almost a thousand years worth of backstabbing those who would form the central pillars of the Clock Tower. In our defense, those decisions were likely good ideas at the time.

It is ever the duty of one's forebears to leave behind messes for their descendants to clean up. I kind of look forward to seeing what skeletons my father and I stash away to be discovered later. Perhaps it'll be a world ending threat of some stripe? Sounds somewhat _exciting_.

**…**

Arranging our trip to the Rail Zeppelin's departure point in Vinkovci was a simple matter. The chill of winter went beyond the wet and windy weather of Britain I had grown accustomed to. Though the cold flirts more closely with the freezing point than I was used to, in place of sheets of ice and biting gusts, the land is buried in a thick blanket of white snow. It was in this manner that I got my first sight of Croatia in either of my lives, and snow was so uncommon to me that I found my breath temporarily stolen. For a moment, the snow was more than mere mundanity. In the place of frozen water, randomly slumped onto the ground, there was an expanse of diamond jewels, painted onto the world with the most delicate brush the world had ever seen.

A large hand, ensconced in a leather glove, harshly grips my shoulder, and so I am forcibly marched towards our destination: A waiting rental car, which will take us to a run down train station near the city's outskirts. There, the engine of the Rail Zeppelin was already blowing a steady stream of grey into the air from it's smokestack, a single orb on it's front emitting a baleful, poisonous glow.

"Quite the number of people here for an auction no one should have heard about." I remark innocently, eyes scanning the crowd for the telltale signs of magecraft and finding myself unsurprised. There were at least eight mages that I could tell from those assembled in the crowd, and a larger number of mundanes, curiously enough.

"When I was making travel arrangements I noticed that the train offered services to a startling number of mundanes." Fellows says by way of explanation, "A way to traverse the land route across the Eurasian continent is attractive to many, I suppose." In that moment, a whistle cuts through the air with a shrill shriek, and in so doing we begin to make our way onto the train, dragging our luggage with us.

There simply hadn't been enough time to arrange for any of the more _competent_ servants in either of our households to join us, you see, and as I was still certain that the train was a death trap, an incompetent member of the party would be an unbearable handicap in an already dangerous situation. Dame Fellows had protested, naturally, but I pointed out that if she wanted to drag along a corpse she could very well take care of cleaning up the mess they'd make of themselves after the inevitable occurred.

She had stopped complaining, then, giving me a strange, intense look before going back towards preparing for the journey.

So it is with a stony resignation that Olga's governess rubs elbows with the common man, and drags her own luggage onto the train like a common peasant, and we slowly file in with the crowd. The pale, December sun shone down, and as I gaze upon the train that would carry us across the continent I could see the numerous partitions in space which separated the train from the outside world. Bounded fields insulating the individual coaches from the air. Shorn space at the front of the locomotive, the better to smash aside potential obstructions. Many layered wheels within wheels, enshrouding the bogies beneath it, protecting the machinery and allowing the constructs to move apart from the elements.

Beneath our feet, the earth pulses, the steel rails buried into the earth are only a decoration, a guidepost at best.

I step in, and find that the space was suddenly quite cramped, indeed.

The Train is divided into three distinct sections, from what I could understand, consisting of two coaches each, with the locomotive on one end and the caboose at the other. Varnish, which was where the three of us were staying, and where the majority of the magic capable passengers seem to be riding. Business, which is where the wealthier, if mundane, occupants are riding. Goods, which has unfortunate implications given the trains owner, is easily the most crowded and consists of the truly desperate. I have little doubt those in the third section of the train will never see the last station...And I pause to consider that for a moment.

Here we were, three individuals gifted in magecraft. One of which is a grown, experienced woman- in magecraft, if nothing else. Another is a lauded prodigy, Heir of one of the Clock Tower's major families. The last is myself, similarly proclaimed as a young genius. Between us, we will be a formidable threat against any magus we put ourselves up against, I'm sure.

Yet, I hesitate, and reassess the situation: The adult, and thus most capable combatant, in the form of Dame Fellows, would object on principle, or lack thereof. She had convinced Olga to get on this train for the sake of acquiring an incredibly valuable Mystic Eye, not to play Good Samaritan for the sake of inconveniencing a vampire, which none of us are capable of defeating. Would I do such a thing?

Of course! It is for this very reason which I pursue power from the start. The very meaning to battle embedded within ****-

Hmm?

"Something the matter?" Amber eyes meet my own, equal in height despite the age difference, "You're holding up the line, Vinea."

I glanced backwards, staring into the annoyed expression of a middle eastern man, dressed in a suit, bangles and other jewelry hanging from his wrists, "Ah, yes." My body turns towards him in full for a hasty bow, "My apologies." The older man merely groans, his green eyes rolling in annoyance.

"Just hurry it up already." The stranger's emerald orbs rove over the interior of the coach, his focused gaze taking in the austere decorations with a sneer of disdain, "I don't want to be in this tin can any longer than I have to be."

With a final nod, I grab my luggage anew and follow my companions further inwards. From what I have heard from Dame Fellows, the three sections of the train are further divided into passenger coaches and meal coaches. With the exception being the caboose, which serves as an area for the passengers in the Goods section to sleep, away from the crowded confines of their primary coach.

And, let's be fair, it was also the most likely place on the train for unsuspecting victims to be easily abducted by the vampires who doubtlessly keep the thing running.

The three of us continue through the narrow passage between the compartments, their size can easily enough accommodate the need for it's First Class passengers to rest as they need. Which was a small comfort, as I am still expecting a trap to come at us at any moment. The Magical World was a place of all-pervasive danger, and looming brushes with death. Constant vigilance is the key to survival, and in this life, I have things to protect, and the means by which to do so. It has been eight years since I began to study Magecraft. Seven since I began to learn how to control the spells and techniques inscribed within the Vine Magic Crest.

Due to the Vine's specialty, where all but a few geniuses and ascetics with strange designs for self inflicted head transplants would need an Incantation to establish even _one_ Bounded Field under such confines, as the Heir to the Vine Clan I was able to seamlessly integrate several with but a few gestures. The effects of my Pure Eye Lenses serves to enable a smooth alteration to the magical effects already in place around our cabin.

"An adequate suite." The icy voice of Trisha Fellows rings out with grudging approval in her tone as she evaluates my work, "An alarm keyed to the three of us. A ward against obfuscating effects, designed to cannibalize itself to power a dispelling effect on the trespasser." Her eyes narrow further, "A counter?" She stares at me, eyes curious.

"It records how many times it's been bypassed, transmitting that information to me each time I pass through it." Attempts to circumvent the security of an ancient vampire's ancient train meant to accommodate and transport ludicrously valuable objects like Mystic Eyes...Weren't likely to work. Instead, it was more prudent to simply ensure that I would know 'Did someone pass through this door?' each time we entered and exited the cabin. On one's home territory, there were no doubt countless workarounds for any more active defenses available to any bloodsucker which wants to prey upon us. Better to at least have forewarning of a trap before it's sprung, and simple passive monitoring such as that was less likely to arouse the ire of the staff.

I'm sure the other passengers in the Varnish section rely upon less elegant methods to keep watch on their residences for the duration of the trip. Probably familiars, gimmicky Mystic Codes or some other less impressive nonsense.

"I had expected something a bit more…" Dame Fellows begins, "impressive, from a Clan such as yours, Vineas Vine."

I snort, "Only a fool stomps around in a viper's nest and expects to not get bitten." My eyes meet her own challengingly.

"Well, good work Vinea!" Olga intercedes on her governesses behalf, no doubt saving her from an utterly humiliating loss to a thirteen-year old, "All of this has been hard work, let's grab something to eat!" Silver hair bobs authoritatively, and I can't help but shrug.

Somewhat appropriately, my stomach takes that moment to voice its agreement, "So long as they don't try and serve us meat pies or anything." I say with a long-suffering sigh.

The three of us finally exit, having secured our territory as we make our way to the meal coach. My friend takes the lead, her poise proud, which only makes circumstances all the more comical when she walks straight into a tall figure, standing just outside in the hall himself. The stranger, dressed in a black suit, his face drawn and almost haggard, is framed by long, black hair. The eleven year old girl bounces off the grown man, and I easily catch her before she falls to the ground.

"Watch where you're going." He all but growls, gloved hands adjusting a tie as his long black hair shifts from the girl's soft impact. A twinge of faint recognition hits me then, but before I can put a name to the face, he has already left my field of vision.

"My apologies," Olga answers back with reflexive, consummate grace, but too late, as the gentleman leaves as suddenly as he had appeared, a faint grumbling carried through the air the sole remaining evidence of the brief encounter.

We proceed to the dining coach, where several of our fellow passengers are already seated. It is as we claim a table for our own, that a harsh, hateful whistling drowns out all other sound. Once, twice, comes the shrill shriek of steam, and a booming voice, tinged with Mystery fills our ears.

"All passengers, this train will now be departing. Ticketers will now be performing a final check for those on board, and then we will begin our journey." There is a pause, as a uniformed man appears from shadow, doffing his cap towards us in greeting. Eyes the color of blood meets our own, one by one. There is a muted shuffling of paper as train tickets are retrieved by all present, and it is but the work of moments before the ticketers job is complete, melting back into the darkness with a polite bow.

The whistle screams a final time, like a great, lumbering beast taking deep, desperate breaths. A monster, denied air for for who knows how long, finally being blessed with the opportunity to breath the fresh, clean air. The train groans as a morose light from the engine glows brighter, washing over and through the coach, like a stoked brand serving the place of a whip, pistons and pulleys pull taut and move, the muscles and sinews of the creature in which we now dwell heave with the dire direction of its riders. It is with a sense of tugging and profound weightlessness that the Rail Zeppelin begins its journey on the eve of the Fifth Grail War.

"They really do have meat pie after all," I glare at the menu disdainfully, "And it even says _best tried after the night of the first day for peak freshness_." My lips quirk into a grimace, "They're not even _trying_ to hide it!" I slap my thirteen year-old hands onto the table in front of me with a groan, and my discontent is accompanied by the light tittering of Olga-Marie Animusphere.

"Well, what do you expect?" Her lips quirk into a smile, "There _are_ Dead Apostles running the train." My grimace deepens.

"That isn't the _point_." I sigh, "They're advertising that people on this train will be turned into food." My shoulders hunch, "Why doesn't that _bother_ you?" It's an old argument between us. One of the most difficult things to accept about my changed circumstances, a core part of ******, and the current Me, Vineas Vine.

It is with an indulgent smile that Olga turns towards me, "They're only mundanes, Vinea." A dainty, pale hand pats my shoulder, "And you can hardly save them all, you know."

Yes, that's true. I can not save them all. I can not right every wrong before my eyes. I am still only a child, I am still _weak_. And I am alone, at least in this. I say as much for my own benefit, but while Olga-Marie Animusphere could be warm and caring in her own dare I say _special_ way, she is a magus to her very core. The affection she carries is that of a Lord over her fief. To her, those she cares for are her possessions, and as such she will treat them with all the concern her property merits.

But that did not carry true for strangers, those faceless individuals that make up the crowd. It is a difficult thing to adjust to, that for all the maturity this young girl before me possesses, as _real_ as she is...There was no depth to her love for others, and I suspect that there never would be. I, and perhaps her father, and almost certainly Lev Lainur... and mayhap a few others she may meet over the years, will cause her to reach out, and truly care for them. But she holds no love for her common man, and that is a difficult truth to bear.

In the end, she is still my friend, even though we argued about the subject over the years. And as weak as I am, if forced to choose between those faceless masses whom I was helpless to protect and the person right in front of me, I can only put those before my eyes first. I truly am no better than this young girl besides me.

But then, that is what it means to be a magus, is it not?

A shadow casts itself over my shoulder as I stare down at the table, "Hey there." an unfamiliar voice greets us, "Mind if I join you three?" The blonde among us sets her lips into a scowl, ready to issue a refusal. But she is too slow, and her master had already made her decision.

"Certainly." Olga-Marie answers, her voice soft, yet commanding. I look up, and am greeted by yet another pair of glasses, the frames thick, but too thick to hide light blue eyes. A mop of light brown hair lays upon his head, twinging yet another sense of recognition. Something tells me he is in the wrong clothes, however.

My line of thought is broken by the sound of a chair scraping against the floor of the car, as our nameless guest drags it from where he had been seated prior.

"Thanks," The young man says after taking his seat, "It's kind of lonely just being here by myself, you know?" The smile seems genuine, if tinged by nostalgia, "My name is Caules Forvedge, by the way. Next head of the Forvedge Family." He glances at us in turn, as I wrack my mind to try and recall the name.

"I am Olga-Marie Animusphere, Future Head of the Animusphere," She gestures towards herself as Caules eyes widen in surprise, "This is my governess, Trisha Fellows." The blonde woman inclines her head, the naked disdain tampered down in the face of someone with decent social standing by her standards, "And this is my bodyguard-"

"Vineas Vine." I reach out my hand to him to offer for a shake, the sound of the letter _y_ teasing at my lips, "It's a pleasure." He takes it then, and I feel my the hairs on the back of my neck raise from the static charge.

Ah.

Caules Forvedge Yggdmillenia.

Or not, in this world. No wonder I had felt something was wrong with his outfit. He lacks the pinnacle of fashion inherent to the Yggdmillenia Clan. I suppose that means either the Clan's leader, Darnic Prestone Yggdmillenia is long dead, or that he never would have dared to absorb other clans so relentlessly without the Greater Grail on hand. Well, I had already known that Darnic had failed to steal the Grail given Lord Animusphere's circumstances, but this was still nice to know. My mind drifts off towards thoughts of intimidating necromancers in biker jackets, and I hope that that man had achieved some measure of happiness after all.

"Are you alright?" Caules' voice broke me out of my reverie as Olga giggles.

"Don't mind Vinea, Sir Forvedge." My friend tittered with a smile, "He sometimes spaces out like that over the most[I] random[/I] things."

A hand reaches up, tussling my hair, "I knew someone who was like that sometimes." He says, a warm smile on his face, "From how I could hear you talking earlier, I kind of figured you two were alike."

I roughly shove off the offending limb, I was over ten years your elder, dammit! "I remind you of someone?" I ask, glaring with all the indignation this thirteen-year old body could muster, "A sister, or something?"

Caules face flinches at the reminder, "Just…" He pauses, considering, "Just someone who isn't here anymore."

Well, I suppose it isn't some great surprise that Caules' wheelchair bound sister had perished, what with the complications in her legs to worry about. I wonder, would they have been happier in that world? At least they would have still been together then, right?

"So what brings you here?" Olga, ever the nag, inquires of our new acquaintance.

He scratches the back of his head, laughing nervously, "I'm actually here with my teacher to run an errand. It was kind of a last minute thing."

"Similar to our own circumstances." I say knowingly, casting a suspicious glance toward Trisha Fellows, who chooses to ignore aspects of reality that she doesn't like. Such as her age-

"Oh?" The face of the boy before us remains friendly, inviting, but takes on a false sheen. A mask casually slid into place, "I'm guessing you got an invitation, as well?"

If the man is going to be so unsubtle while fishing for information, there's no reason that we can't make a trade of it, "No, more like we invited ourselves when we heard about what was on offer."

Blue eyes turned icy, and my nose catches the faint whiff of ozone, "Anything specific?"

"Well-" I drawl, glancing towards Olga only for a pair of hands to slam into the table between us, a shock of gold filling my vision.

"What else?!" A barely remembered voice breaks through the clamor of conversation, "It's Mystic Eyes, of course!" With a casual toss of hair, the incredibly memorable face (and personality) of Arciel Yves du Bifronnes appears before my eyes once again.

"Ha!" Her teeth are as white as ever, "I'd recognize that color anywhere, Vinea!" The woman grabs one of my hands in both of hers, "It almost feels like the hand of Fate at work that you're here, and I'm here too!" Her eyes glance over the rest of the table, roving hungrily as she dismisses the other two girls, though she raises an eyebrow at Caules, before meeting my eyes once again, "I've been looking _forward_ to this."

A coughing sound reaches our ears, amber irises narrow in annoyance at the newly arrived interloper, "Hello." Her eyes shift, the weight of her gaze crushing upon my captured hand, "Isn't it the height of impropriety to make such a scene and interrupt our conversation without at least _introducing yourself?_" A silver eyebrow raises in challenge, the force of the expression washing over its target ineffectually.

"Aha," Bifronnes huffs out, her expression unchanging, and she continues to stare at me unblinkingly, rather than so much as second-glance at Olga, "I'm Arciel, Arciel Yves du Bifronnes." Her eyes make me feel uncomfortable, as if they are drinking in my very presence, "Me and Vinea here go _way_ back."

Olga's expression blanches, "H-how long have you known him?" She asks, and the question makes me feel a chill run down my spine. Danger. There is danger here!

"Five years, at least." The golden haired woman before me answers easily, "Sometimes it's hard to keep track, you know?" I glance back towards Caules, who merely looks upon me with an expression of pity. Your pity is worthless, offer me help!

"O-oh!" My friend folds her arms across her chest, "I've known _Vinea_ far longer than that!" She huffs proudly.

This too, goes ignored by the creepy woman before me, "I've wanted to see you! Your unique color, I've looked and looked and _looked_ all this time, and never seen the like again!" Her face begins closing the distance, and I desperately attempt to kick my seat back.

Damn these stubby, childlike legs!

"And now you're _here_ on this Mystic Eye Collection Train." Too bright teeth, like predatory jaws, continue to close the distance, "With Little Miss Genius, and now _me_, and so _many_ other interesting people." Her face fills my vision, an unnatural hunger hidden behind doll-like eyes, "I've been _waiting for this._" Bifronnes pants, hot air blowing against my face even as I break out into a cold sweat.

I gulp. I need an adult. Sadly, that adult appears to be me and is utterly useless for the task at hand.

The moment passes, and the woman backs away from the table, finally letting go of my hand as golden strands dance through the air, her bearing is as if the moment never happened, "I'm looking forward to your performance, Vinea!" With a casual wave and a cheerful tune on her lips, the older woman departs.

"So." Olga-Marie breaks the resultant silence, "How _did_ you meet with the Mystic Eye Pervert, Vinea?"

Caules stills in his chair, and I blink, "Wait, 'Mystic Eye Pervert'?" My hands reach my forehead, attempting to massage a growing tension headache, "What kind of a nickname is _that?_"

"Lady _du Bifronnes_," Olga begins, expression distasteful, "Is a woman in her twenties, and the result of a very…" She grimaces, "Eccentric experiment. The Bifronnes are a family which specialize in the perception of the world through the Noble Color system."

I stare at her, "That's exceedingly specific."

"No more specific than people that try to reach the Origin through creating perfectly beautiful young women." Caules points out, as if speaking from experience. Ah, right. That Silver and Gold sister thing was only a few months ago, wasn't it?

Olga clears her throat primly, "So, the family had prepared an entire array of spells that would supplement an individual born with the traits necessary to perceive the world through those colors. Pure Eyes." She adds, glancing at my own spectacles, "Her parents adjusted her, and succeeded. Too well." She snorts derisively, "So now she sees things in weird colors all the time, and apparently has taken a liking to collecting _Mystic_ Eyes that catch her fancy. For whatever reason."

"That does explain her presence here." I point out first to get out of the way, to the agreement of the rest of the table, "Although it doesn't explain why she zeroed in on _me_. Twice." I say, to focus on what's really important. Me, specifically.

"Where _did_ you meet, exactly?" My friend asks, her eyes narrow.

"At your celebratory party back five years ago." I answer, "She confronted me out of nowhere and acted incredibly creepy." The silver haired girl before me looks me over, expression imperious for a long, drawn out moment.

Finally, she nods, "Well, while I may not know the _exact_ reason, at least she appears to appreciate your proper value." I keep my memory of the golden haired woman's dismissal of my friend on that occasion to myself.

It is at that moment, that a waiter finally arrives and we order our brunch at last.

**…**

Caules gives his goodbyes and departs. With conversational security back in place, I turn back to my companions, "Something been bothering me, where exactly will the auction be taking place?" I presume that the Varnish section coaches are too cramped. Even with the cabins' generous space allotment there were only eight of them, and all are filled, from what Fellows had informed us. Then again; Magecraft.

The governess in question glares and adjusts her glasses at me, "There is a scheduled stop during the second night of the trip at a hidden station on the line's route. The auction will be held there." She nods confidently.

"I see," Olga stands, eyes gleaming, "Then that gives us two days with which to keep ourselves entertained." This is true. As a veteran of many road trips in my past life, I had been sure to pack along the essentials: Idle entertainment. Now that we had entered the new millennium, at long last, I had been sure to invest in a G***boy Advance, and with it, make up for one of the few regrets from my first go at childhood: A third generation P***mon game! Yes, now that I didn't have Lord Vine breathing down my neck to ensure that I stuck to a strict training regimen I can-

"Let's go explore the train!"

"Wait- what?" I stare at the energetically nodding eleven-year old girl who's pointing towards me, as if deliberately poking a hole in my idle thoughts and dreams, "But..._why_."

"What do you mean, Vinea?" Olga's head tilts to the side curiously, "Weren't _you_ the one who cared about the mundanes to begin with?" I don't want to get to know them, I just want to keep them from being treated like livestock! "Well, now's your chance!" She grabs my arm and begins to drag me out of my seat, "It's not as if they'll still be here tomorrow!" It's with a mournful cry in my heart that I give in to her urging, and thus she drags me from my seat.

I turn a piteous, almost pleading glance towards the allegedly responsible adult in our group. Dame Trisha Fellows answers my look with one of contemplation, our silent exchange lasting a small eternity before a kind, gentle smile appears upon her features.

"You two have fun, My Lady."

I may have been joking before about exacting petty vengeance, woman. But just for that I'm going to adjust your dating profile to say that you're only attracted to children and devastatingly aged-looking old men!

**…**

The pair of us exit through the rear of the dining coach, facing the connection between the Varnish and Business sections.

"Why is this in the open air?" My friend asks, her breath misting in the cold of winter. I glance about, the mystic partitions between the two coaches are as clear as daylight before the lens I wear. There was a curious amount of shaking, and as I look down, I note the blurred landscape and the rails beneath us in a thick line, interspersed with streaks of earthy brown.

"I'm guessing to keep the sections distinctly separate." I say after a moment, the atmosphere of the partitioned space emits a compelling desire for segregation, the idea that one must not cross this divide, even on pains of death, "To keep the mundanes away from us."

Olga nods, before hopping over the brief space between the two carriages. I can't help but shake my head in exasperation, "You _do_ realize how fast we're going, don't you?" I call out to her over the sound of the screeching train.

She smiles back confidently, "If it is dangerous you would have _said_ so, Vinea." The girl turns her back to me, hand already grasping the handle to open the door to where the Business class passengers stayed, "Come on, then! We'll never get anywhere before nightfall if you don't hurry up!"

I sigh before following, the pair of us entering the interior of the carriage, which appears remarkably similar to the one which we ourselves occupy. Did we get ripped off? To think that a vampire would be even worse than modern airlin-Oh wait.

There are no mystic enchantments set along the cabins in this section. _Interesting_. Did that mean that the owner of the train doesn't care what happens in the lesser two sections of the train, so long as they paid beforehand? Olga and I walk forward, nearly bumping into a man in a heavy grey trenchcoat.

"Good afternoon!" The young girl besides me greets with the type of cheery upfrontness that usually has the exact opposite effect of its disposition, "How are you liking things in this lesser section of the train, sir?" I look upon the no doubt offended adult before me, his expression inscrutable beneath layers of white bandages, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat. In silence, he inclines his head, before quietly navigating around us to the rear of the cabin. With the sound of rushing air, I realize that he had exited into the section of the train we had just departed from.

"Oh?" A new voice, smooth and clear, like a curious and affected ring that contrasts and overpowers the faint, ambient sound of rushing air that was ever present within this train, "Who might we have here?" I turn to face the source, standing idly within the doorway to one of the cabins.

Long, pale fingers grasp the thin, wooden door, the action seemingly stunningly natural. My breath shakes as she looks down upon us with dark eyes behind crystal clear lenses. The unerring white of her skin contrasts with the deep shadows of hair, falling back in a murky waterfall that spills down to her ankles, swaying with the motion of the train. Framing her form was long sleeved robe, dyed a deep ocean blue, and wrapped around her waist was a purple _obi_, a golden tassel wraps around it to complete the image of picturesque elegance.

The beauty before us was clearly Japanese and-

_A snake._

I blink.

The air of a magus wafts from the woman before me, and I find myself instantly on guard. My eyes eyes drift towards my self appointed charge, to find her own eyes warily meeting mine.

"I apologize for my rudeness," The woman before us continues, the back of her hand hiding her mouth demurely, the arms of her dress falling downward to reveal skin like porce-_Ow!_ Why did you pinch me, Olga?!

A tittering sound fills the hall, followed by the sliding of wooden panels, as this stranger comes out to join us, "Allow me to introduce myself; I am Hishiri Adashino." She bowed slightly, "It's an honor to meet you here, Lady Animusphere." Her eyes turn towards me, irises twinkling, "And Lord Vine, as well."

"Hmph," My friend huff, her nose turns up into the air in an imperious sniff, "I suppose that is to be expected," I recognize the moment her eyes turn speculative, "How do you know of us?"

"As a member of the Faculty of Law, it's only to be expected that I would know of you, My Lady." Adashino bows again, this time slightly more casual. I suppress a twitch, "I can't say that I had expected two of such high standing to be here by themselves." She straightens up, adjusting her spectacles as she does so, "What brought this about, if I may ask?"

Olga pauses and I step in smoothly, "Why do you think, Dame Adashino?" Addressing her by that title seems a bit much, but I trust it was a safe bet. After all, though she was likely considered an apostate for her chosen path, those within the Faculty of Law were of no small power within the Mage's Association.

There are twelve faculties in the Clock Tower, tied into the teaching of Magecraft:

**[*]**General Fundamentals, which covered the basic theory of magecraft. The majority who enter the Clock Tower spend their first time learning general magical theory, relating to things such as sympathetic magic, leylines, and mana studies.

**[*]**Individual Fundamentals, which are the next step towards specialization in specific fields.

**[*]**Spiritual Evocation, which researches matters relating to the summoning and manipulation of spiritual entities such as a soul, wraiths, or certain types of magical creatures.

**[*]**Mineralogy, which handles the study of natural materials and their magical nature. Subjects such as Jewel Magecraft are studied in greater detail here.

**[*]**Zoology, which looks into matters regarding living creatures, often centering around the study and development of chimera.

**[*]**Anthropology, is more of a social science, and also known by the name of Lore. Though this still has the study of humanity under its purview, it is more accurate to refer to "Humans and that relating to them" as the Sixth Faculties area of study.

**[*]**Botany, the Seventh Faculty is that which delves into flaura and its applications in magecraft.

**[*]**Celestial Body, otherwise known as Astronomy Facility, covers the study of the heavens in a very general sense. In all it's literal and esoteric terms.

**[*]**Creation, is as pretentious as its name implies from my perspective. The domain of those craftsman obsessed with proving their superiority. Form over function, as it were, but they are still all but unequaled in their field the world over.

**[*]**Curse, is the Faculty in charge of studying lingering magical effects the world over. What defines a Curse in the Mage's association is not something as simple as malice, but more a self propagating magical formula. Thus, it covers a wide field.

**[*]**Archaeology, in comparison to the Sixth Faculty, the Eleventh is focused on the study of history in general, rather than merely that which relates to humankind. The recluses among the recluses which is the Clock Tower, it is this Department which so strongly appeals to those who look towards the past with wonder.

**[*]**Modern Magecraft Theories, the most recent Faculty, the Twelfth is focused on the study and development of that Magecraft which carries with it an air of modernity, taking into account concepts and technologies introduced and developed in the past century. Perhaps the foremost example of this would be the hodgepodge mess of a Foundation known as "Chaos Magic".

The Vine have a very good relationship with Anthropology, I myself intend to ingratiate myself into Archaeology, and Olga-Marie's father is the head of Celestial Body. But, perhaps most ominously, there is a thirteenth faculty tied to the Clock Tower: Focused towards social sciences and the enforcement of Magi culture, the thirteenth department, which eschews the research of magecraft, for the sake of maintaining the power and privilege of the Clock Tower, is an outcast from the majority of the Magical World.

But in that world, to be an outcast and survive requires no small amount of power, even by the standards of the Lords that rule over it.

Thus, I address her with respect. For those who declare allegiance with the Thirteenth Faculty in the outside world are either fools or confident against all those whom they would encounter. Either way, they are unpredictable.

This place stinks of being a trap. It sounds like a trap. Feels like a trap. It _is_ a trap. It is too damn suspicious not to be, and if there is a member of the Thirteenth Faculty here, that is as sure a sign of trouble as if we had stumbled across a sudden invitation to the reading of a will of a distant uncle or something.

"You've caught us at a disadvantage, I'm afraid," I answer her question with my most disarming smile, "Is it really fair that you know everything about us before we can ask a question ourselves? And on a first meeting, no less?"

A giggle escapes her lips, hidden demurely behind her hand, "Fair enough, My Lord." Her head inclines slightly, bangs fluttering slightly with the motion, "Ask away."

I consider the obvious question of 'What are you doing here?' for but a moment, before realizing that it would only justify her asking in kind. No, it's better to try and draw the conversation away from dangerous waters, "For a member of the Thirteenth Faculty to be present, I find myself worried." I give an exaggerated sigh, "Have you encountered any self-styled detectives, Dame Adasino? I would hate to have accidentally stumbled into the plot of an old murder mystery novel." I can feel Olga glaring at me, having turned down the opportunity for a true investigation, but behind the light, patronizing giggle that follows I see a minute twitch flicker briefly upon the woman's pale features. The self control of one who walks the path of Magecraft is all but impeccable, and their resistance to pain and surprise is immense. Further, in order to walk the path of enforcing law and etiquette upon the incredibly violent law of Magi, requires one to be able to possess an even more exceptional poise, on top of that.

Thus, as much in this life is my previous one, audacity will be my most treasured tool, and my most valuable partner. Here, too, it proves it's worth in overcoming even this snake's composure, if only by a microscopic margin.

"That's quite the imagination you have there, My Lord." Adashino turns a knowing look towards my friend, "Is he naturally so creative, My Lady?"

Olga gives the sigh of the long suffering, a palm absently reaches her forehead, "Yes, I can hardly take him anywhere. His terrible sense of humor and leering are painfully embarrassing habits of his."

_I do not _**_leer!_** I think to myself, doing my best to spontaneously develop either telepathy or Pyrokinetic spells, whichever would let me best transmit my displeasure to this insufferable girl beside me!

"My sense of humor is _flawless_," I state with all due gravity, my arms folding over my chest, "You are merely too _young_ to understand it." I channel all the experience I have over two lives to create the perfect image of aristocratic condescension.

"Hmph!" Olga snorts, amber eyes glaring at me, "You say that despite being only two years older than I am, Vinea!"

My immaculately cared for hand rises up, palm reaching my forehead before running my fingers elegantly through the blond strands of my hair, "Two years is all the world, my dear Olga." I affect a nostalgic sigh, "The road to puberty is one fraught with great peril, but bestows those who walk it with equally great wisdom."

"And perversion." I scoff.

A true giggle fills the hallway once again, Adashino looks upon us with an amused expression, "Now now, My Lords, there's no reason to fight." Her hands wave at us placatingly, eyes twinkling, "Are you having fun, exploring the train?"

"Somewhat," Olga replies instantly, "We're about to go see what the third section looks like."

"Ah." The woman before us nods in understanding, "Do be careful, this train _does_ cater towards those of a less savory nature, and they often gather in the rear of it." She glances out a window, the sole beam of sunlight already taking on a slightly red hue, "Well, do not let me stop you two. I bid you good day for now, My Lord, My Lady." She bows slightly at the waist, we nod respectively in turn, before she makes her way past us. We stay silent as we walk ahead ourselves, when in short order the sound of rushing wind reaches our ears.

"Well, you certainly made a fool of yourself, Vinea. _Again._" Olga snorts, as we reach the door to the outside. Her dainty hand pulls it open with a certain degree of unwarranted viciousness.

"I do _not_ leer." I reply with affected dignity, holding the door- like a gentleman, thank you very much, Olga!- open for her to pass through before, following her into the accordion connecting the this coach with the next one. As I close the door behind me, my free hand makes a sweeping gesture, completing the Bounded Field and ensuring a certain level of privacy, "And the evidence just keeps piling up." I add, as Olga turns to glare at me, hands on her hips.

"Yes, well, that's why both you [I]_and_ Trisha are here with me, Vinea." My eyes nearly bulge with her continued flippancy.

"Can you at least tell me _why_ you trust her sources enough to take this risk in the first place?" Exasperation tinges my words, and I do my utmost to keep my voice level. Even so, Olga noticeably flinches back. It seems that I had been more expressive than I thought.

The future head of Chaldea looks to the side, face vulnerable for but a second, before her features set and hands clench into fists, as she faces me in full, "I can not." Her golden eyes imperious, expression filled with a hardened determination, "As the future Head of the Animusphere, it is my duty to keep the trust of those who work under me."

I roll my eyes until I'm looking away from her, and sigh. I was in the midst of a mixture of honest feelings, and perhaps a tinge of adolescent fueled melodrama, but the gesture allows me to drink in our surroundings and confirm the continued absence of magecraft in this section. Curious. I run my hand through my hair until I can marshall my own resolve. After a moment, I find myself matching her gaze, "...And what of _my_ trust, Olga?"

She looks away, "Y-you _promised._" Her voice trembles, shoulders shaking, and so very, very small. For a moment, if only in my mind's eye, I see all that she is, as I've come to know her, and all she was, as I knew her in my past life.

Once more I sigh, _This brat…_

A hand reaches out, tussling her silver hair further. It's not as if I can muss it up any worse than it already is, after all.

"Yes, I suppose I did." With that statement I dispel the Field around us, and enter into the Coach ahead, an unremarkable space that was a mundane echo of it's twin behind us.

After a moment that is so long I almost begin to wonder, my dear friend follows, her confidence seemingly restored.

**…**

The third section, Goods, is markedly different from both prior ones. In place of the orderly defined eight cabins, which had dominated the residential coaches of Varnish and Business, the space here was halved, and then halved again, turning both sides of the hall we now walk down into walls consisting of sixteen doors each. Cramped confines to be sure, there was no doubt that there would be barely enough room in the individual cabins for two longer couches and enough room to comfortably move around, they might even need to store their luggage in overhead compartments, the poor bastards.

Huh.

Maybe I'm more acclimated to the perspective of an aristocrat than I thought?

"_Again?_" Olga mutters to herself, striding past me. I can't help but wonder what her problem is, but there's really no helping it by this point. A few doors open into the hall and some children come pouring out, playing around and shouting incoherently before they spot the two of us. Naturally, we play around for a fair bit and humor their games, as Olga drinks in the attention and admiration of the other kids.

I wouldn't be losing in cards otherwise. It's beneath an adult to take children seriously, you know?

So it's as the day drags on, and the sun nearly completes its descent over the horizon that I gently point out the time to the heir of the Animusphere. We take what is only moderately a rushed leave. The caboose remains unexplored, but not before I drop a few very unsubtle hint for our temporary companions to _not go there. Especially_ if the cushions in their cabins are uncomfortable to lay down in.

The face of my friend is bright as we return, _only one person has passed through_, and we are welcomed by the extremely unwelcome and stern face of Dame Fellows, who declares it time to retrieve dinner, before explaining over our meal that if only we had returned earlier we could have taken our meals with _the_ Lord El-Melloi as well-

I bite my tongue.

"Lord El-Melloi _is __**here?!**_" What was Waver Velvet doing present on this damn train?! One of my favorite characters in the setting, his dour expression and faint smell of cig-_oh my God Olga nearly bowled the poor man over and __**I didn't even notice**_.

My face falls down into my hands, wincing from a pain both physical and emotional. A tiny hand pats my back in commiseration, and I felt the weight I kept there shift a bit from the impact. It was a nice gesture, but ultimately meaningless. I need to grab the girl besides me and force her to apologize at the first available opportunity. That opportunity being _right now_. I raise my head, looking Fellows in the eye, "Where is he? We should go and apologize for not greeting him properly _immediately_." I try to put as much urgency into that last word as possible, and the old hag before me simply grins smugly in response, damn her!

"Lord El-Melloi said he would be most interested in greeting you, but said that with his apprentice in tow he was [I]quite[/I] tired from the days exertions. After taking their dinner they retreated back to their room, you see." Her eyes took on a malicious glee, in that moment, "And he requested privacy until he was ready to call upon us." I resolved to add 'is attracted to particularly pungent odors' to her dating profile in that moment, then cursed the fact that even if Waver had been born as a mere third-generational magus, as a Lord of the Clock Tower, and head of the Modern Magecraft Faculty, he still had the standing necessary to dictate how we would meet.

_He doesn't even care if we're the heirs to Lords of comparable social standing! So cool~_

**…**

I awake to dawn's first rays of sunshine pouring in through a gap in the wooden shutter partitioning my bunk from the rest of the cabin. I made the narrow gap in it's slats to serve in place of an alarm. The sound of rushing water reaches my ears, it's the cabin's washroom in use. I realize that the one using it is likely Dame Fellows, and I consider just how much I value spite versus the escalation in inconvenience, were I to act upon it. Alas, caution wins the day, and I decide to push the moment of sweet vindication towards exploring methods to bearing witness to the trainwreck of her inevitable blind date. There was no way I would be caught on the management side of things, of course, and for all that my father was familiar with modern technology, he wouldn't have the time to spare attention to such petty abuses of power.

Yes. I could picture it now: The look of blank shock. Her pupils widening in surprise. The pallor bleaching her already fair skin, the nostrils flaring at the inevitably rancid body odor. The firm set of resolve to _push through_ with it because she's _just that much of a trooper_. Aaaaaaaaah! It would be so magnificent!

"Vinea…" Olga-Marie's voice groaned tiredly, "It's too _early_ for that creepy laugh of yours…"

"It's not too early- and my laugh isn't _creepy_…" I reply back with aristocratic dignity, retrieving my portable gaming system before distracting myself from the darker urges that well deep within my tortured, poet's soul. Man, women sure are cruel creatures, aren't they?

Time passes in such a fashion until it is finally my turn ("Ladies _first_, Vinea!") and in so doing we greet the day with a continental breakfast in the dining car.

I avoid the blood sausage on offer because that level of irony is a bit too dark for my taste, _thank you_.

Which reminds me, "I'm going to spend the morning checking out the rear end of the train again." I announce to the table as Caules walks in, and the bandaged man from yesterday follows in shortly behind him.

"Oh?" The teenager speaks up, making a beeline towards our table, his temporary companion taking a seat by himself as a shock of straw-colored hair peeks through his wrappings, "What for?"

"Vinea is probably just feeling like he needs a rematch with some mundane children he lost _badly_ to yesterday," Olga says in a stage whisper as she fiddles with a grapefruit, "He's _very competitive_."

"And you are _very subtle_, Olga."

"Really?" The older man chuckles, rubbing my hair for the second time in two days, "I guess you're really a kid after all." But I'm not, though, "I guess even you must find this kind of stuff boring too, huh?"

"That is true…" Wait, Caules was into computers and such, wasn't he? I casually reach into my pocket, flashing him a piece of brightly colored plastic, it's white buttons and screen catching the light _just s_o, "But honestly, I'd like to get a look at the rest of the train. We _both_ got caught up with those children, so we never got to finish what we were there for in the first place."

"You're just jealous because I _won_."

"Those kids were _sharks_, Olga. They only let you win because you were a girl with funny looking hair."

"All's fair in love and- Wait a second! You _take that back my hair is __**not**__ funny!_"

"People who are wrong about a man's laughter say 'what'." I almost mutter.

"What?"

_"A-ha!"_

Caules chuckles, no doubt having caught on to the whole exchange, "I think I might join you two." Olga and I nod, eager to get started, yet Dame Fellows chooses that moment to show just how wet her blanket really is and loudly clears her throat.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible, My Lady." She inclines her head towards Olga, "We are waiting for an opportunity to greet Lord El-Melloi when he calls upon us this morning, we can not afford to leave him waiting after your rudeness yesterday."

My friend looks towards me pleadingly, and while normally I would absolutely love to tell some random noble to take a hike or to spite her governess in this regard I felt we needed to have Waver in our corner as firmly as possible in the times ahead. If Lord Animusphere is getting ready for the Holy Grail War, we would no doubt need the resources of Lord El-Melloi II on our side when the time came to establish Chaldea. I do not know the exact details of how it had been founded, but I know that the resources to assemble forty-eight reyshift-capable Masters from across the globe comes neither cheaply nor easily.

Also, he is a pretty cool guy whom I admire, able to take his formative experience in the Fourth Grail War to become an impressive Lecturer in the Clock Tower, who raised up incredibly talented students in his El-Melloi classroom. A peerless teacher, among a profession I still have a deep and abiding respect for, even now.

It is no exaggeration to say that when it comes time for me to attend classes there in a few years, his lectures are to be the first ones I will sign up for, no matter how many dirty tricks, backdoor dealings, or 'blind' dates I would have to set up in exchange. I will make it happen.

"This is a great opportunity for you to make future connections, Olga." I nod with a bright smile on my face, "You should definitely take advantage of it." I nod again, seriously, "Ser Forvedge and I will simply take our time exploring the train later, and then I'll try and make my own introduction."

"Actually," The young man besides us interrupts, "I happen to know his apprentice." A dark eyebrow raises itself, "I can set up a chance to introduce you both to him later, if you'd like."

Olga's eyes light up, hope raised in a singular moment, "I'm afraid we'll have to decline," Trisha Fellows responds seriously, mercilessly crushing her charges bright spot, "We have our own appointment to keep with Lord El-Melloi, and it would be _quite_ rude to reschedule in such a way after he had extended such an invitation to us."

Caules chuckles nervously, "You're probably right about that. He can get _pretty_ scary when he's angry." He excuses himself to grab a plate before rejoining us, then, and as time passes he exchanges stories with us of the Clock Tower in London from a student's perspective, which Olga and I listen to in rapt attention.

**…**

"So."

It is about an hour later, breakfast having concluded, as Caules and I stand at the divide between Business and Goods, when the man with the resolve to be a Master and survive the largest Grail War before the Grand Order turns towards me, his expression serious. I am no fool, and was aware that the person before me has more than enough mettle to survive a life and death struggle. With a gesture, I establish some privacy.

"Were we that transparent?" It was a legitimate concern, if I show my motivations that easily on my face, that bore poorly for future interactions in the Mage's Association at large. Best to catch it now.

Thankfully, Caules Forvedge shakes his head, "No, but you don't _act_ like the kind of noble's son who'd get caught up in spiting a bunch of regular kids just because you lost a few hands of poker."

I laugh, then, long and loud, before looking at the young man before me with a smile full of teeth, "You would be wrong there, actually." I place my hands behind my back, leaning forward as I meet the taller man's eyes, "Olga was telling the truth, I happen to _love_ the idea of competing, and _really_ hate losing without getting at least one good shot in." My lips twist into a smirk, a savage beat of my heart, "But no, in this case you were right about there being another angle." With an effort of will, I force down that nostalgic, lovely, amazing feeling of utmost euphoria, and replace it with a placid, businesslike facade.

I inhale, breathing deeply. I exhale, letting it out in a rush of air.

"You know who owns this train."

Caules nods, "That Dead Apostle, right?" I nod.

"What's the difference between this car," My hand gestures behind me towards the Business Section, "And _that_ car?" I gesture ahead of us, towards the Goods.

To the man's credit, he pauses, thinking it over as he glances between the two. I can almost see him putting together the dots, the moment that realization hits him as a closed fist hits an open palm with a meaty thud, "There aren't any enchantments in the Business class, right?"

I nod, "But there are ones over the Varnish and Goods class coaches." I receive only puzzlement in return before sighing, "First Class and Coach."

"Ooooh," He turns to look ahead, "This have to do with why you were there yesterday?"

"In my defense," I reply, "Olga really did have a lot of fun playing with the other kids." I shrug helplessly, "She just likes the attention," My fingers rub away the forming tension headache, "She's such a _child_ sometimes."

Caules just smirks at that, for some reason, "So what were you thinking?"

"You know what they have another name for in train industry terminology for Passenger trains?" At the shake of negation I continue, "'Varnish'," Then jerk my thumb backwards.

"First class, makes sense."

"So you know what they call freight trains? The ones that carry cargo from place to place?" As the eyes of the man before me narrow, I realize that he gets it, "'Goods'." I glare ahead at the death trap behind the older magus, "And what would a vampire consider 'Goods', exactly?"

"Do you plan to do something about it?"

"I...don't really know." I say after a moment, "I can't really _do_ anything on my own, but-"

"You don't know what you want until you confirm it with your own eyes, right?" Caules says with a shrug, "I know that feeling." He turns around, stepping towards the rear section of the train with ease, "You coming?"

As I dispel the Bounded Field behind me, for the first time I feel a distinct aura of reliability coming from the young man ahead of me.

**…**

The children Olga and I had played with had listened to our advice, thankfully, and their parents had indulged in the excuses they gave, enough to put up with the momentary discomfort. Fortunately for them, as those same parents had made acquaintances of their own, who had the misfortune of their own exhaustion causing them to retreat to the caboose for rest. That they had gone missing afterwards served as enough validation of their warnings, and when those same parents confronted Caules and myself we explained that there had been rumors of this line being used as a front for human traffickers, which inspired no small amount of healthy paranoia in the group.

Dutifully, Caules played the role of concerned older brother, furious at his younger sibling's recklessness to knowingly travel such a dangerous place without adult supervision, and with that affected chastisement done we bid goodbye and good luck before making our way towards the caboose of the train to investigate.

The first thing that stands out to me as we enter, is that the floor we stand on doesn't really exist.

Well, that may be an exaggeration. The floor _does_ exist, but it isn't made of anything solid. In reality, it is part of an extremely subtle Bounded Field which encases the entirety of the caboose, enforced with concepts of subtlety and misdirection, projecting calmness and security. Caules doesn't pick up on it himself, but to my spectacles the magecraft at work is as clear as day. The older boy asks me what lay beyond it, and as I describe the formalcraft at work he can only hum in confusion, before pulling out a notebook and asking me to draw the symbols and circles that I see lining the rest area. Fortunately, a part of growing up in a magical household that works with incredibly precise dioramas means having the keen eye and steady hands of an artist.

"You know that acquaintance I told you about?" He asks me after I had finish copying down what I see in painstaking detail, the effort a work of several hours by that point. I nod, "He's _really_ good at puzzling out stuff like this. I might be able to get him to look it over when I'm trying to get his Master to meet you," He raises his hand to stop me when I open my mouth to give him my thanks, "But I won't promise anything." He shrugs, "He's not the kind of guy to particularly care about the problems of mundanes anyway." The young magus' expression turns bitter, then, "He's got his eye on something else entirely for this trip, but he's being awfully cagey about it. Lords, eh?"

I can't help but agree with the sentiment. _Aristocrats_, am I right?

With a grim determination, the pair of us return to our section of the train, just in time to catch a sullen Olga and a preening Fellows in time to join them for dinner. The investigation of the trap at the back of the train had taken us all day.

**…**

It is a few hours after nightfall that the Rail Zeppelin comes to a complete stop. The morose voice of the Conductor manages to make apologizes for the delay sound predatory. Evidently the pause is caused by a snow drift that will be cleared out in a few hours. A knock on our door draws our attention to it. It slides open to reveal the bowing form of the ticketer from the first day.

"Sir, Madames," He begins with a slow, sonorous voice, "The Main Event is about to begin." A hand, gloved in an unsettling white leather, gestures outwards towards the hall. He lifts his head, blood-red pupils meeting our eyes, "If you would allow me to escort the three of you to the venue."

The three of us nod towards one another, Dame Fellows taking point as Olga follows behind her, my own self holds the position of rearguard. My circuits thrum with a subtle heat, my consciousness drifts towards the subtle weight on my back as we are lead through the hall, gently escorted off of the train, and onto a station drenched in darkness, obscured further by surrounding flurries of snow.

We step forward into the unknown.

We stand upon solid stone, immaculately shaped, and the platform is illuminated by cheerfully crackling torches. I blink. There is a Bounded Field of such subtle working that I hadn't noticed it immediately through my glasses? I glance back towards the train, eyes narrowing, as the vehicle blurs slightly, revealing the illusion for what it was.

_Spatial Partition?_

An advanced form of Bounded Field, which takes the role of a 'Boundary' and stretches the definition enough to render the affected area an entirely new region of space from beyond its border, outright. It is a Magecraft only a few steps removed from one of the pinnacles of its field, and no doubt is an incredibly complex working to be kept so immaculate, even under such hostile conditions.

_Or perhaps, it is __**because**__ of such conditions that it is able to remain in such good condition?_

I turn away from my musings over our current environment, and fall in line behind my companions, as the vampire leads us further into the station, a polite smile upon his face the whole time.

Eyes.

Set upon a table on a raised platform are a dozen jars are filled with some form of embalming fluid, and suspended in them are the scraps of flesh and thick nerves and white orbs of human eyeballs, arranged on display for all to see. Well, I say 'all', but it appears that our party is the last to arrive, seated in front of us are the rest of the occupants of the Varnish section of the train, familiar black hair falling backwards over the back of a chair, the bandaged head of a stranger, the light reflecting off of Caules' glasses, the dark skin of another stranger that I faintly recognized from first boarding, and walking on to a podium, upon which rests an auctioneer's gavel, is the easily recognizable figure of Hishiri Adashino, this evening her kimono is a deep purple, nearly black in the torchlight, and the lighter obi now replaced by one the color of the clear blue sky with elegantly patterned wisps of clouds.

The three of us take our seats silently, and Fellows moves her head in slight negation. The Rainbow eyes aren't out yet, it seems. This means it will be up to us to play the auctioneering game, to drain our rivals of their funds ahead of time and to set up a true coup de grace when the time came for the _real_ prize of the evening.

A shower of gold fell at my side, it's brilliant strands brushing my shoulder. I glance to the side as Arciel Yves du Bifronnes took her seat besides me, giving me an exaggerated wink as she met my eyes.

Hmph. Challenge accepted. I'll have you know that I read a ton of Xianxia stories in my past life, played the online auction houses of countless MMORPGs and spent innumerable hours on Ebay! See how you handle the skills I picked up over months spent in front of a computer screen, you normie!

**…**

The first test came by way of a set of Gold Ranked Mystic Eyes, a perfectly preserved pair that had been sold by an unfortunate Indian Psychic with a talent for Divination. Dame Fellows smirks at that for some reason, and opens the bidding with an offer of five thousand pounds, one which is soon followed by Arciel, who doubles the bid. Waver took a stab at it himself, raising the bid to eleven thousand, upon which the woman besides me answers by raising it to eleven thousand and _one_. The older man scowls in my direction, and I hastily gestured towards the instigating party, declaring my innocence with as much feigned sincere conviction as possible.

When it becomes clear that no one else is interested, I choose to test the waters, raising the bidding to an even twenty thousand, but as I meet the eyes of the woman besides me, she gives me a sly grin as the auction is called, and I am awarded the Gold-Ranked Mystic Eyes of Guidance: An advanced form of dowsing, for my troubles. It has little direct use for me, but I am sure my father would be able to find a use for the things. If they can be utilized, their ability to _guide_ ones hands to the most correct conclusion would be invaluable for progressing work on the _Etenmaki_. But even so, the fact is that Arciel has still played me in this first round, and there are still at least twelve more items up for bidding.

I know that the only ones with truly comparable resources to my own are the pair of Olga and Fellows, and maybe Waver, if he has the full backing of the El-Melloi behind him. But I am suspicious of why he is here in the first place, and Arciel is known as the 'Mystic Eye Pervert'. Draining her of her resources to keep the cost of the main attraction down for Olga and myself is absolutely critical.

Next on the docket is a single orb, described as beneath Gold Rank in potency, a Pure Eye which provides information on the composition of an object. I open the bid with a half-hearted thousand pounds, which Waver follows up by raising to two thousand. From there we exchange raises up to eight thousand pounds before Arciel steps in, declaring a bid of ten. I back off, and hope that the older magus will have the common sense to realize what I am doing.

He does not, his eyes narrow into a glare as he raised the bid to eleven thousand, and I repress a sigh as Arciel merely smiled viciously at him. The bid goes to him, the 'proud' new owner of a Pure Eye of Structural Grasping, and all I can do is mourn the waste of good money on such a frivolous thing. That isn't even your money Waver, you know? Be a little more responsible, please.

It is in similar fashion that the next few auctions go, the bidding remains heated between myself, Arciel, and Waver, with an occasional bid from the two whom I did not recognize. A set of Mystic Eyes of Flame Conjuration, one eye taken off a Psychic who claimed to be capable of telekinesis but the eye had not yet been tested beyond confirming its classification, and a Pure Eye of Saturation, which let it's bearer recognize the degree by which any given object was stained by an outside influence. All three went towards Arciel. Although I had put up a bitter fight for that last one, she is triumphant in the end, with a bid of 30 thousand pounds.

The glare I shoot at her was quite real, to the point I fully admit I had forgotten I was supposed to have made her spend outrageous sums of money in the first place, you know? But can you blame me? If the Vine had been able to convert such a thing into being compatible with my Spectacles, the information we could glean through them would be absurd! Not to mention the Mystic Eyes of Dowsing I had picked up. I am sure my father could have put them towards some kind of enormously cheat-like use for the family magecraft.

Oh well. Maybe I can get Arciel to trade them for something else down the line? Or just buy them from her outright? It's not like we were lacking for money at any rate.

"This next object is _incredibly_ valuable," My ears perk up as Adashino gestures backwards, there's a change in the atmosphere like a curtain dropping back, and the ambient magical energy spikes up, "A single Mystic Eye of the Jewel Class," She reaches back, holding it up for us to see, "Preserved since ancient times, this Mystic Eye has confirmed effects regarding the flow and connection of various energies. Tentatively titled 'Pasha', until such time as its effects are further tested out, there are standing requests from the Mineralogy, Zoology, Evocation, and Modern Magecraft Faculties to assist with experiments related to its abilities." The woman pauses dramatically, "In addition to a request from the Sea of Estray." Those around me begin to murmur excitedly.

"Bidding will begin at one hundred thousand pounds."

"One hundred fifty." The deeply tanned man declares instantly, drawing a slight gasp from...Waver Velvet. The bandaged man simply turns to stare, as well.

"Two hundred thousand." A familiar voice calls out, and I'm caught off guard by the resolute expression worn by Caules Forvedge, as he stares unblinkingly at the prize on stage.

"Two hundred and ten thousand." The first bidder raises again, glaring at the younger man with a look of utmost loathing.

"Two hundred thirty." Alciel calls out from besides me, and I can see the sweat beginning to bead on Caules face.

"Two hundred thirty-five." I raise again, and in that moment I meet Caules eyes. I don't know what he sees there, but in the next moment, he nods, and the tanned man raises the bid an additional fifteen thousand pounds.

The Heir of the Forvedge families' knuckles turn white, as he clenches his fists, "T-three hundred thousand pounds." He says with a deathly finality, and there is more murmuring that greets this latest bid, the dark-skinned blond's expression contorts in an impotent rage.

"Three hundred and one thousand pounds." Arciel calls out easily, and Caules once again meets my eyes.

"Three hundred and two thousand."

"Hmm…" The golden haired woman stares at me curiously, "Sure. You can have it." Her lips pull back, revealing too white teeth as she stares down Caules, even as the woman from the Faculty of Law declares him the winner.

Huh.

I glance back between Arciel and Caules, the two exchanging glances at once another before looking surreptitiously at me.

_Seems I got myself stuck in something troublesome_, I note, as the final bidder for the Pasha Eye, having picked up on the silent exchange, is now taking the opportunity to glare at me with unrestrained hatred. Hey. Hey mister. Is it okay for you to look at a kid like that?

What follows are more Gold ranked eyes, one for casting forth lightning bolts without frying the eyeball, another set of Pure Eyes that are particularly effective for perceiving spirits and wraiths and the like. These both go to Arciel. A pair of Mystic Eyes of Command, a more powerful variant of typical hypnotic suggestion. This goes to the dark skinned man. Pure Eyes which show the currents and eddies of the world as colorful streams superimposed on normal vision, those ones go to the man in bandages for an incredible sum. Mystic Eyes which adjust the weight and volume of what they focus on, depending on the energy invested into the action. These are picked up by Dame Fellows, oddly enough, but I assume she didn't want to tip her hand about only being here for the hidden showcase item.

After that were two pairs of Mystic Eyes, having belonged to a set of twins. One who could predict any action perfectly so long as it occurred in front of her, and the other who could interfere with the execution of any event that occurred before her with which she had perfect knowledge. They were auctioned as a pair, and while the Animusphere team and I made a fair game of it, ultimately the win for _that_ set goes to Arciel for two hundred thousand pounds.

It is hard to keep down my grin, as the light of the torches dims.

"Now, I have been informed by our generous host that there will be one more item on the docket this evening. A twelfth auction, in recognition of the guests' collective ties to the Clock Tower." The auctioneer of the Thirteenth Faculty declares, the atmosphere shifts again, as a new presence makes itself felt, stifling the air. Hishiri Adashino reaches into the podium, withdrawing a thirteenth jar, suspended within is a single eye, it's iris glowing with a multicolored hue.

"Courtesy of Lady Rita Rozay-en, I present a Mystic Eye of Rainbow-Class with an undisclosed ability. The bidding will begin at five hundred thousand pounds."

Olga-Marie and I grin maliciously at one another as those around us explode into excited shouting.

**…**

"Two _million_ pounds, Vinea." My friend shakes her head some hours later, the two of us having retreated to the dining car for a late night meal, "Do you even _have_ that much money to throw around?"

I give her a cheeky grin, "Of course not, but Father does. And that is who I asked the auctioneer to both charge _and_ ship the eye to." I puffed my chest out proudly, "No doubt he'll be furious that I spent that much money until Lord Animusphere asks about it later on."

Amber eyes roll in exasperation, "You wouldn't even _be_ here were it not for my timely warning. Or insistence that you join me." She closes her eyes, before straightening up in her seat, huffing with indignant and aristocratic poise, "And to _think_." She continues, cracking open one eye to glare at me, "You were _worried_ that this was all a _trap_."

"Oh, I haven't forgotten." I reply easily, "I'm still fairly certain that this is a trap for _someone_, even if it's not us specifically, and thus we're likely to be a target of opportunity if nothing else." A red-eyed waiter arrives, and I order a coffee with absolute relish, "Not even taking into account whatever crazy stunt Arciel is going to get up to."

Olga hums thoughtfully, "You may have a point, Vinea." With a request for tea in hand, the vampire bows, and returns to the kitchen to get our order, "She is rather dangerous. The amount of money she had was unexpected, though."

"Well, she does have a reputation. I'm less surprised that she was rich, and more surprised that she had enough money to win every bid prior to the last combined." My own eyebrows furrow, "I'd be more suspicious of the fact that she let Caules win that Jewel eye if I wasn't sure she would just hold him hostage for it later."

"The Forvedge heir?" Olga asks, and I nod, "What _was_ going on between you, anyway?"

"A promise between men."

My friend simply shakes her head, "Well, whatever _weirdness_ you get up to aside, who do you think is most likely to try to kill us later?"

"The tanned guy, for sure."

"The Middle Easterner? I'm pretty sure his name was...Atrum Geh...G-_something._"

"Gatorade?" I supply helpfully, only for Olga to glare at me again.

"No." She says with a grim finality, "_That_ would be _ridiculous_." I can't help but agree, to be honest, but before I can voice that opinion the server returns with our drinks, accompanied by light snacks that we indulge in, chatting over small things, as the night drags on.

**…**

A twinge of warning reaches my consciousness, and I abandon the table quickly, ignoring Olga's cries of protest and questions. Over a hundred channels in my body begin to heat up, and my back becomes a furnace as I feed power into what lays rested upon it. I sprint toward out cabin, and I only have a moment to hear the sounds of Olga's frantic scrambling after me.

Within moments I arrive at our cabin, and slam the door open, _no one has entered_, and what lies before my eyes is a scene of horrible tragedy.

"NO!" I cry out with a primal fury, "No! This can't be real!" I fall to my knees, my hands clutching my head as I scream in frustration, anger, and loss.

Before me is the still corpse of Trisha Fellows, her eyes closed. She almost seems serene, a macabre joke that makes me stomach boil. A faint trace of silver liquid hangs from her lips, reflecting the artificial light in the cabin, "WHY WOULD SOMEONE DO THIS?!"

I hear Olga distantly ask me a question, asked in a rush of panic, until I hear her footsteps level with our doorway. She lets a scream, followed by a choked sob.

I must have spent more time trying to come to grips with this than I thought, as before I can turn around to comfort Olga, her small arms are already wrapping around my shoulders. My hesitation to turn around becomes clear, as the action is like breaking a dam, and I feel my tears flow freely as well.

"Such plans, Olga…" I finally turn around to sob breathlessly into that frail shoulder, "I had had such plans!" My friend's hands patted me consolingly on the back, her support in this harsh time more welcome than I could ever hope to truly express. Some part of me couldn't help but note a sort of dark irony. Here I was, more vocally expressing a anguish that would seem more fitting on the one who knew her better than I. "They'll pay," I choke out between tears and mucus, "Whoever did this…They'll pay _dearly._"

Olga can only nod through her own shaking and tears. That's right. Between the two of us, the_ bastard_ that robbed me of the chance of humiliating that Christmas Cake with a plan that I had spent [I]_years_[/I] fantasizing of, and the grudge that I had sunk hundreds of thousands of pounds into preparing to settle, would suffer a fate most likely worse than death.

But still, _far_ better than they had deserved.

**...**

Somewhat unexpectedly, the first to arrive on scene after us is Caules. I suppose he hadn't been sleeping, which was something I could sympathize with, as I, too, had spent weeks fearing Arciel breaking into my room while I slept after the first time I had met her.

"What happened?" He asks, not unintelligently.

"A murder." I meet his gaze as I continue to hold on to Olga, silently conscripting the young man before me into being an accomplice in another such crime which would be occurring in the near future.

To his credit, Caules Forvedge attempts to contest my own will in this, but like he had suspected when we first met, I was no mere child. It is the work of moments before resignation enters his eyes and I nod in gratitude, "I'm guessing you had some Bounded Fields up?"

"I did," I confirm before giving him a rundown on the three Bounded Fields, all intact. The first was the alarm over the door, which triggered when it detected some kind of magecraft related anomaly, the second was the tripwire which was triggered to self destruct and interfere with any attempts to enter the room by stealth, and the last being the one to record the number of individuals to pass through the door other than myself, Olga, and Dame Fellows.

"So what you're saying," Caules said, "Is that no one entered through the door other than Miss Fellows over there. No one tried bringing magecraft effects through here, other than what presumably killed the woman. And no one tried to sneak past the other two Bounded Fields, is that right?"

I nod, "All three were free from tampering, and the window to the cabin was already incredibly secured against outside entry." The protections were all in place as well, unless you could ghost through walls, no one had entered or exited the room to kill Trisha Fellows other than the woman herself, "It's like a genuine Locked Room Murder." I say, almost in spite of myself.

Caules eyes narrow, "I might know someone who can help." He turns to glance back in the hall, "Do you have any idea who could have done this?"

I glance back towards the silvery liquid dripping out of the woman's mouth, "I have an idea or two. Just bring whoever you have in mind and let them investigate." I gently pull Olga to her feet, her sobs and trembling finally stopped, "This place isn't safe, and the only reason to try and kill Trisha Fellows is to get to _her._" The girl in question pulls at my sleeve, her grip tightening.

Caules nods, a bitter smile crossing his features, "Keep her safe, then. I'll make sure to find you later."

"Who do you think you're talking to?" I ask the man before me, who scans the hall behind him once more before departing.

"C'mon, Olga, we can't stay here." I whisper to my friend, who simply stares at the still form of her caretaker. Her shoulders stiffen, then straighten, and she looks into my eyes with a burning determination.

"We'll find whoever did this." She said with absolute conviction, "We'll make them _pay_." It appears as if Olga had managed to bounce back after all.

"Of course we will." Just like I knew that she would.

"And I have a plan."

**…**

"So what you're saying, _Vinea_, is that since there is only _one_ person you know about on the train that has a mercury-based Mystic Code, chances are that they're our best lead on what happened to Trisha." Olga hisses at me as we near the accordion connecting the dining coach to the passenger coach, "And even _ignoring_ how you know this to begin with, why do you want to ambush and _take them hostage_, let alone believe that you might_ succeed_ against a Lord of the Clock Tower!"

I dismiss Olga's words easily. Under normal circumstances, she'd be completely right. But Waver Velvet is a magus to the core. While he might express a scholarly interest in the method by which the murder was committed, he'll never help us solve it unless forced to by outside circumstances. Also he is terrible in a fight. I likely could take him hostage even without using any magecraft.

"Trust me, it'll work. Just hide in the Dining Coach until I give you the all-clear."

"And how do I know that the _Dead Apostles_ will protect me any more than they did _Trisha?_"

"Because we're _literally_ the only passengers that the vampires gives a damn about." I reply, "I investigated the train more fully with Caules today. None of the other sections have any of the protections that ours do. Business class has none. And Goods has wards and Bounded Fields that seem to actively _encourage_ normal people to allow themselves to be abducted and murdered in the night." I look from side to side, spotting the heavily curtained window giving us a view of the night sky, punctuated by the flurries of snow, "So long as you're obviously where they can see you, you should be under their protection."

"Oh?" She growls, anger and fear in her eyes,"And what's to stop them from saving your would-be hostage?"

"One of our companions was killed in the space they had set aside to guarantee our safety," Yeah, that would do it, "I'm just being proactive about defending myself."

"This is _stupid_ Vineas Vine!" Olga hisses a final time before I wave her off, enshrouding myself in a Field centered upon myself, hiding from view. With a sound somewhere between a growl and a whimper, Olga-Marie stomps into the Dining Coach, and presumably, safety.

_Poor girl's scared_, I think to myself, relying on memories of rock climbing and the conditioning of my thirteen year old body to scramble up the thick curtains onto the upholstery lining the ceiling of the Coach. I sigh, deeply, and breath in.

My heart beats. A pulse. A hand reaches down and squeezes the engine which pumps life through the rest of my body. My grip tightens, and with a savage grin, over a hundred channels of power flare to life.

"[I]Partition.[/I]" I say, my hand grasping at the air as if it were something solid, and dragging it back as if shutting a door. It ripples, and with a tug of effort from the Magic Circuits of myself and the Vine Magic Crest, I am all but separated from the outside world. One of the most advanced one-line spells recorded in my family's two thousand year history, an instant Spatial Partition. Inferior for long term defenses or other works like the station in which the auction had taken place, it was instead a peerless tool for staying hidden. Developed specifically to assist in observing the spaces within my family's workshop without having to be worried about the resident species noticing our presence as we recorded our findings.

Even if I only could maintain it for a few hours at most, compared to the weeks recorded in my father's notes, it was a technique more than sufficient for the task at hand. As I cling to the ceiling, the weight on my back grows more insistent, and the time for it to act on its purpose draws near.

A curse echoes down the hall, and the sound of running feet follow shortly after. A familiar figure charges down towards the Dining Car, his long, black hair swaying. I grip the upholstery with one hand, the other reaching behind my back as I drop down, swinging to gain momentum as the taller figure bulls forward, his breath already coming out in nearly winded huffs. With a thought, a latch opens on the leather bandolier I have strapped over my back, and my Partition vanishes as I swing forward, throwing all my weight into a kick aimed at the back of the man's legs.

He falls as easily as I had expected, and with a smooth motion I draw the red-bone knife, inscribed with Gaellic script, it's keen edge pressed against the throat of Lord El-Melloi II, "It's my understanding that the El-Melloi are in possession of a formidable Mystic Code composed almost entirely of _mercury_. One capable of acting _autonomously and_ _**remotely**_," My hostage curses audibly, and I draw the knife closer to show him that I mean business, "Such a thing would fit the criteria for the method that took the life of Dame Fellows, don't you think?"

A sigh is my only response, but it is not from any voice I recognize. It is slightly nasal, arrogant, and aristocratic. It is the disappointment of a man who knows that he will not like the answer but feels an obligation to ask that question [I]_regardless_[/I]. The resignation of a man who is aware of his own place in the world, and the inevitable incompetence that he finds himself surrounded by. A true noble, in other words.

A true genius.

"Ordinarily I would ask how you came about such information, young man," A sense of deja vu strikes me, a singular possibility that I attempt to deny for the sheer _impossibility_ of it, "But I'm afraid that I am more overwhelmed at the rather disappointing performance of the man you are currently holding at knifepoint, as if you were but a common _hoodlum._"

Slicked back yellow hair, and eyes like hard sapphires stare at me. He stands calmly, with the patience of a lecturer who has dealt with far too many rowdy students, his hands folded neatly behind his back.

"Regrettable as it is for me to admit, the man beneath you _is_ my apprentice, and thus I will need you to let him go, lest I take certain _disciplinary_ measures against you."

My jaw drops of its own accord, and the dead man before my eyes smirks, drinking in my reaction with a look of utmost satisfaction.

It is either because of, or in spite of, the fact the enormous gravity of the situation suddenly became so much larger than I previous thought, that I was able to speak more confidently than I felt.

"Lord Kayneth El-Melloi Archibald."

A gloved hand raises to meet his chin speculatively, and it is with great pride that he so solemnly declares:

"None_ other._"

**A.N.: Christ, this was a chore to shoot out this weekend, but mad props goes towards DawnGazer for spending nearly eight hours helping me betaread this nonsense! Once again, credit goes to The Out Of World for the use of his OC, Arciel Yves du Bifronnes. For this chapter, in lieu of being able to just nakedly rip off the actual Rail Zeppelin in canon, I was forced to improvise. There's several disparate forms of inspiration that I welded together into this absolute mess of an arc, but the two biggest are without a doubt the El-Melloi Case Files and a great little story called Kenkyo Kenjitsu, which is the story of an honest, hard working girl reincarnated into the main villain of one of her favorite shoujo mangas and her resulting struggles.**

**The stage is set, the Mystery begins, and the time has come for the Detective to take the stage!**

**Who is it?**

**Well.**


End file.
